HlUGH BlLAIR JD.:
ESSAYS
ON
RHETORIC,
X
ABRIDGED CHIEFLY FHOM
Dr. BLAlKs LECTURES
ON THAT
SCIENCE.
ADDITIONS and IMPROVEMENTS.
LOXDON:
PRINTED FOR VERNOR AND HOOD, IN THE POULTRY ; CROSBY AND LETTERMAN, ST AT ION ER's-COU R.T ; AND LACKING- TON, ALLEN, AND CO.
1801.
Tewkejbury : Printed by W. Dydc.
ADVERTISEMENT.
'
T
JL HE want of a fyflem of Rhetoric upon a concife plan, and at an eafy price, will, it is prefumed, render this little Volume not unacceptable to the public. To collect knowledge, which is fcattered over a wide ex- tent, into a fmall compafs ; if it has not the merit of originality, has at lead the advan- tage of being ufeful. Many who are terri- fied at the idea of travelling over a ponderous volume in fearch of information, will yet fet out on a fhort journey, in purfuit of fcience, with alacrity and profit. Thofe for whom the following Eflays are principally intended, will derive a peculiar benefit from the bre- vity with which they are conveyed. To A 2
IV ADVERTISEMENT'.
youth, who are engaged in the. rudiments of learning, and whofe time and attention mud be occupied with a variety of fubjecls, every branch of feience fhould be rendered as concife as poiJible. Hence tne atten- tion is not fatigued, nor the memory over- loaded.
That a knowledge of Rhetoric forms a. very material part of the education of a polite fcholar, muft be univerfalJy allowed. Any attempt, therefore, however imperfecl, to make fo tifeful a feience more generally known, has a claim to that praife which is the reward of a good intention. With this the Editor will be fufficiently fatrsfled; finec beinc: ferviceable to others, is the moft agree-
O O
able mclhod of becoming contented with ourfeJves.
CONTENTS.
Page.
INTRODUCTION
On Tajle 1
Criticifm — Genius — Pleafures of Tajle — Sublimity
in Objetfs 7
Sublimity in Writing 17
Beauty, and other Pleafures of Tajle 28
Origin and Progrefe of Language 38
Rife and Progrtfr of Language and of Writing . . 48
Structure of Language 55
Strufiure of Language. Engii/b Tongue .... 62
StyL' — Perfpicuity and Prccijion 72
Strutture of Sentences 78
The fame fubjefl. .' 85
Structure of Sentences. Harmony (K>
Origin and Nature of Figurative Language .. 101
Metaphor 107
Hyperbole — Perfonijication — Apojlropbe 114
Perjenif cation 1 16
A 3
VI CONTENTS.
Page. Apojlrople - ]2i
Comparifon, Antitbejis,, Interrogation, Exclamation,
and otb'er Figures of Speech 122
Ant 'it be/is 127
Interrogation and Exclamation 12<J
Vifion .. ]3i
Climax 132
General Cbar afters of Style— diffuje ; concife; fee- lie ; nervous ; dry ; plain ; neat ; elegant ;
flowery 134
Style— -fimple ; affefled ; vehement— Directions for
forming a proper Style 142
Critical Examination of Mr. Addifons Style in No.
41 1 of tie Spectator 153
Eloquence. Origin of Eloquence; Grecian Eloquence ,
Demojlbenes 164
Roman Eloquence — Cicero. Modern Eloquence .. 171
Eloquence of- Popular Ajfemblies 179
Eloquence of tbe Bar 1&4
Eloquence of tbe Pulpit Ipl
Condufi of a Difcourfe in. all its Parts — Introduction
—Drvi/ion — Narration and Explication . . IQS Tbe Argumentative Part of a Difcourfe — tbe Patbe-
iic Part— tie Peroration .' 207
Pronunciation or Delivery 213
Means of improving in Eloquence 225
Comparative Merit of tie Antients and tie Moderns 23 4 ,
CONTENTS. Vtt
Page.
Hiftorical Writing 238
Pbibfopbical Writing 2-14
Epiflolary Writing 24(5
Fittitious Hi/lory- , 247
Nature of Poetry. Its Origin and Progrefs; Verfi-
fcation 250
JLngKJb Verification 25S
Pajloral Poetry 256
Lyric Poetry 263
Didaflic Poetry 266
Defcriptive Poetry 2JO
The Poetry of tbe Hebrews 275
Epic Poetry 280
Homer s Iliad and Oayffey 286
Tbe Mneid of Virgil 201
Lncaris Pbarfalia 2Q4
Ta/os Jentfalem 207
Tbe Lujiad of Camocns 300
Tbe Telemacbus of Fenelon 303
Tbe Henriade of Voltaire 305
Milton s Paradife Lojl 308
Dramatic Poetry. Tragedy 312
Greek Tragedy 327
French Tragedy 330
Englijb Tragedy 332
Comedy 335
yiii CONTENTS.
Page.
Ani'ient Comedy •. . . . 339
Spamjb Comedy 341
French Comedy 342
Comedy 344
INTRODUCTION".
A
PROPER acquaintance with the circle of Liberal Arts is requifite to the ftudy of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres. To extend their knowledge muft be the firft care of thofe who wifh either to write with reputation, or to exprefs themfelves in public fo as to com- mand attention. Among the antients it was an effential principle, that the orator ought to be converfant in every, department of learning. No art, indeed, can be contrived, which could ftamp merit on a compofition for richnefs or fplendour of expreffion, when it poflefles barren or erroneous fentiments. Oratory, it is true, has often been drfgraced by attempts to eftabiiih afalfe criterion of its value. Writers have endeavored to fupply the want of matter by the graces of compo- fition ; and to court the temporary applaufe of the ignorant, inttead of the latting ap- probation of the difcerning. But the pre-
INTRODUCTION.
valence of fuch impoftor muft be fhort and tranfitory. The body and fubftance of any valuable compofiiion muft be formed by knowledge and fcience. Rhetoric completes the ftruclure, and adds the polifh ; but firm and folid bodies are able to receive it.
Among the learned it has long been a contefted, and remains ftill an undecided queftion, whether Nature or Art contributes moft towards excellence in writing and dif- courfe. Various may be the opinions, with refpecl to the manner in which Art can moft effectually furnifh her aid for fuch a pur- .pofe ; and it were prefumption to advance, that mere rhetorical rules, how juft foever, are fufficient to form an orator. Private ap- plication-and 'ft udy, fuppofing natural geni- us to be favourable,, are certainly fuperirur to any fyftem of public inft ruction. But though rules and inftruclions cannot com- prehend every thing which is requifite, they may afford considerable ufe and advantage. If they cannot infpire genius, they can give it direction and affiftance. If they cannot
INTRODUCTION.
make barrennefs fruitful, they can con-eft re- dundancy. They difcover the proper models for imitation: they point out the principal beauties which ought to be ftudied, and the chief faults which ought to be avoided ; and confequently tend to enlighten Tafte, and to conduct Genius from unnatural devia- tions, into its proper channel. Though they are incapable, perhaps, of producing great excellencies, they may at lead be fub- fervient, to prevent the commiffion of con- fiderable miflakes.
In the education of youth, no object has appeared more important to wife men, in every age, than to furnifh them early with a relifh for the entertainments of Tafte. From thefe, to the difcharge of the higher and more important duties of life, the tranfi- tion is natural and eafy. Of thole minds which have this elegant and -liberal turn, the mofl pleating hopes may be entertained. It affords the promife of many virtues. On the contrary, an entire infenfibility of elo- quence, poetry, or any of the fine arts, may
INTRODUCTION.
juftly be confklered as a perverfe fymp- tom of youth ; and fuppofes them inclined to inferior gratifications, or capable of being engaged only in the more common and me- chanical purfuits of life.
The improvement of Tafte feems to be more or lefs connected with every good and virtuous difpofition. By giving frequent cx- ercife to all the tender and humane paffions, a cultivated tafte increafes fenfibility ; yet, at the fame time, it tends to foften the more violent and angry emotions.
-Ingennas didicjjfe jideliter arJes, Emollit mows nee fmlt ej/eferos-
Thefe_polifh'd arts have humanized mankind, Soften'd the rude, and calm'd the boift'rous mind,
Poetry, Eloquence, and Hiftory, are con- tinually holding forward to our view thofc elevated fentiments and high examples which tend to nourifh'in our minds public fpirit, the love of glory, contempt of external for- tune, and the admiration of every thing; that is truly great, noble, and illuHrious.
ON
TASTE.
ASTE is " the power of receiving pleafuro n-J. " pain from the beauties and deformities of Nature " and of Art." It is a faculty common in fome de- gree to all mankind. Throughout the circle of human nature nothing is more univerfal than the relifh of Beauty, of on€ kind or other ; of what is orderly, proportioned, grand, harmonious, new, or fprightly. Nor does there prevail lefs generally a difrelilh of what- ever is grofs, difproportioned, diforderly, and difcordant. In children the rudiments of Tafte appear very early, in a thoufand inftances ; in their partiality for regular bodies, their fondnefs for pictures and ftatues, and their warm attachment to whatever is new or aftonifliing1. The moft ftupid peafants receive pleafure from tales and ballads, and are delighted with the beautiful ap- B
2 ON TASTE.
pearances of nature, in the earth, and the heavens. Even in the wild defarts of America, where human nature appears in its ftate of greateft nakednefs, the favages have yet their ornaments of drefs, their war and their death longs, their harangues and their orators. Tne principles of Tafte muft, therefore, he deeply founded in the human mind. To have fome difcernment of Beauty, is no lefs eflential to man, than to poflefs the attributes of fpeech and of reafon.
Though no human being can be entirely devoid of this faculty, yet it is poflefled in very different degrees. In fome men only the faint glimmerings of Tafte are vifiblej the beauties which they relifh are of the coarfeft kind ; and of thefe they have only a weak and confufed impreffion : while in others, Tafte rifes to an acute dif- cernment, and a lively enjoyment of the moft refined beauties.
This inequality of Tafte amongft mankind is to be afcribed, undoubtedly, in fome degree, to the different frame of their natures ; to nicer organs, and more deli- cate internal powers, with which fome are endowed be- yond others : yet it is owing ftill more to culture and education. Tafte is certainly one of the moft improve- able faculties which adorns our nature. We may eafily be convinced of the truth of this affertion, by only re- flecting on that immenfe fuperiority which education and improvement give to civilized, above barbarous na- tions, in refinement of Tafte j and on the advantage
ON TASTE.
which they give, in the fame nalion, to thofe who have ftudied the liberal arts, above the rude and illiterate vulgar.
Reafon and good fenfe have fo extenfive an influence en all the operations and decifions of Tafte, that a com- pletely good Tafte may well be confidered as a power compounded of natural fenfibility to beauty, and of im- proved understanding. To be convinced of the truth of this petition we may obferve, that the greater part of the productions of Genius are no other than imita- tions of nature ; reprefentations of the characters, actions, or manners of men. Now the pleafure we experience from fuch imitations, or reprefentations, is founded on mere Tafte : but to judge whether they be properly executed, ueiungs to tne unaerltanding, which compares the copy with the original.
In reading, for inftance, the JEneid of Virgil, a great part of our pleafure arifes from the proper conduct of the plan or flory ; from the union of all the parts to- gether with probability and due connection j from the adoption of the characters from nature, the correfpon- dence of the fentiments to the characters, and of the ftyle to the fentiments. The pleafure which is derived from a poem fo conducted, is felt or enjoyed by Tafle as an internal fenfe ; but the difcovery of this conduct in the poem is owing to reafonj and the more that B2
4 OX TASTE.
reafon enables us to dilcover fuch propriety in the con- duct, the greater will be our pleafure.
The chara&ers or conftituents of Tafte, when brought to its moft perfect ftate, may be reduced to twoj Deli- cacy and Correctnefs.
Delicacy of Tafte refers principally to the perfeftion of that natural fenfibility on which Tafte is founded. It implies thofe finer organs or powers which enable us to difcover beauties that are concealed from a vulgar eye. It is judged of by the fame marks that we employ in judging of the delicacy of an external fenfe. As the goodnefs of the palate is not tried by ftrong flavours, but by a mixture of ingredients, where, notwithftand- incr the confulion, we remain fenfible of each j in like manner, delicacy of internal Tafte is vifible, by a quick and lively fenfibility to its fineft, moft compounded, or moft latent objects.
Correctnefs of Tafte refpecls the improvement which that faculty receives through its connection with the understanding. A man of correct Tafte is one who is never impoied on by counterfeit beauties ; who carries always in his own mind that ftandard of good fcnfe which he employs in judging of every thing. He elti- mates with propriety the relative merit of the feveral beauties which he meets with in any work of genius ; refers them to their proper clafles ; affigns the princi- ples, as far as they can be traced, whence their power of
OX TASTE. ;>
pleafing us is derived ; and is pleafed himfelf precifely in that degree in which he ought, and no more.
Tafte is certainly not an arbitrary principle, which is fubjed to the fancy of every individual, and which ad- mits of no criterion for determining whether it be true or falfe. Its foundation is the fame in every human mind. It is built upon fentiments and perceptions which are infeparable from our nature ; aud which ge- nerally operate with the fame uniformity as our other intellectual principles. When thefe fentiments are per- verted by ignorance, or deformed by prejudice, they may be rectified by reafon. Their found and natural ftate is finally determined, by comparing them with the general Tafte of mankind. Let men declaim, as much as they pleafe, concerning the caprice and the uncer- tainty of Tafte : it is found by experience, that there are beauties, which, if difplayed in a proper light, have power to command lafting and univerfal admiration. In every compofition, what interefts the imagination, and touches the heart, gives pleafure to all ages and to all nations. There is a certain ftring, which being properly ftrack, the human heart is fo made as to ac- cord to it.
Hence the general and decided teftimony which the
moft improved nations of the earth, throughout a long
feries of ages, have concurred to beftow on fome few
works of genius j fuch as the Iliad of Homer, and the
B3
6 ON TASTE.
./Eneid of Virgil. Hence the authority which fuch works have obtained, as flandards in fome degree of poetical compofition ; fince from them we are enabled to colled what the fenfe of mankind is, with refpeft to thofe beauties which give them the higheft pleafure, and which therefore poetry ought to exhibit. Autho- rity or prejudice may, in one age or country, give a fliort-lived reputation to an infipid poet, or a bad artiftj but when foreigners, or when pofterity examine his works, his faults are difcovered, and the genuine Taile of human nature is feen. Time, which overthrows the illulions of opinion, and the whimfies of caprice, con- firms and eltabliflies the decilions of nature.
CRITICISM— GENIUS— PLEASURES OF TASTE —SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
RUE CRITICISM is the application of Tafte and of good fenfe to the feveral fine arts. Its defign is to dillinguifh what is beautiful and what is faulty in every performance. From particular inftances it afcends to general principles ; and gradually forms rules or con- clufions concerning the feveral kinds of Beauty in the works of Genius.
Criticifm is an art founded entirely on experience j on the obfervation of fuch beauties as have been found to pleafe mankind moft generally. For example j Ariftotle's rules concerning the unity of aftion in dra- matic and epic competition, were not firft difcovered by logical reafoning, and theni applied to poetry ; but they were deduced from the practice of Homer and So- phocles. They were founded upon obferving the fupe- rior pleafure which we derive from the relation of an acYion which is one and entire, beyond what we receive from the relation of fcattered and unconnected fads.
A fuperior Genius, indeed, will of himfelf, unin- ftruded, compofe in fuch a manner as mail be agree- able to the moft important rules of Criticifm ; for fince thefe rules are founded in nature, nature will frequently fuggeft them in pradice. Homer, it is certain, was acquainted .with no fyftems of the art of poetry.
8 GEXIUS.
Guided by Genius alone, he compofed in verfe a regular ftory, which all fucceeding ages have admired. This, however is no argument againft the ufefulnefs of Criti- cifm. For, fince no human genius is perfect, there is no writer who may not receive afliftance from critical obfervations upon the beauties and defe6ts of thofe who have gone before him. No rules can, indeed, fupply the defeats of genius, or infpire it where it is wanting ; but they may often guide it into its proper channel j they may correct its extravagancies, and teach it the moft juft and proper imitation of nature. Critical rules are intended chiefly to point out the faults which ought to be avodied. We muft be indebted to nature for the production of fuperlative beauties.
GENIUS is a word which, in common acceptation, extends much farther than to the objects of Tafte. It Signifies that talent or aptitude which we receive from nature, in order to excel in any one thing whatever. A man is faid to have a genius for mathematics, as well as a, genius for poetry j a genius for war, for politics, or for any mechanical employment.
Genius may be greatly improved and cultivated by art and ftudy ; but by them alone it cannot be ac- quired. As it is a higher faculty than Tafte, it is ever, according to the common frugality of nature, more li- mited in the fphere of its operations. There are per- fons, not unfrequently to be met with, who have an excellent Tafte in feveral of the polite arts; fuch as
PLEASURES OP TASTE. 9
mufic, poetry, painting, and eloquence, altogether : but an excellent execution in all thefe arts is very feldorn found in any individual ; or rather, indeed, is not to be looked for. An univerfal Genius, or one who is equally and indifferently inclined towards feveral different pro- feffions and arts, is not likely to excel in any. Although there may be fome few exceptions, yet in general it is true, that when the bent of the mind is wholly directed towards fome one object, exclufively, as It were, of others, there is the faireft profpect of eminence in that, whatever it may be. Extreme heat can be produced only when the rays converge to a tingle point. Young people are highly intereitea i» this remark 3 fmce it may teach them to examine with caic, mid to purfue with ardour, that path which nature has marked out for their peculiar exertions.
The nature of Tafte, the importance of Criticlfm, and the diftinction between Tafte and Genius, being thus explained ; the fources of the Pleafures of Tafte fhall next be confidered. Here a very extenfive field is opened ; no lefs than all the Pleafures of the Imagina- tion, as they are generally called, whether afforded us bj natural objects, or by imitations and defcriptions of them. It is not, however, neceffary to the purpofe of the prefent work, that all of them mould be examined Tally ; the pleafure which we receive from difcourfe, or writing, being the principal object of them. Our deliga is, to give fomc openings into the Pleafures of Tafte hi
1O PLEASURES OP TASTE.
general ; and to infill, more particularly, upon Subli- mity and Beauty.
As yet, we are far from having attained to any fyftem concerning this fubjeft. A regular enquiry into it was firft attempted by Mr. Addifon, in his Eflay on the Plea- fures of the Imagination. By him thefe Pleafures are reduced under three heads: Beauty, Grandeur, and Novelty. His fpeculations on tin's fubject, if not re- markably profound, are, however, very beautiful and entertaining j and he has the merit of having difco- vered a tra6t which was before untrod. Since his time, the advances which have bee" «««««i^ i«» this part of philofophical rr\rir>',faa, are not coniiderable j which is owing, doubtlefs, to that thinnefs and fubtilty, which are difcovered to be properties of all the feelings of Tafte. It is difficult to enumerate the feveral objeds which give pleafure to Tafte j it is more difficult to define all thofe which have been difcovered, and to range them under proper clafTes ; and when we would proceed farther, and inveftigate the efficient caufes of the pleafure which we receive from fuch objects, here we find ourfelves at the greateft lofs. For example j we all learn by experience, that fome figures of bodies appear to us more beautiful than others j on farther en- . quiry, we difcover that the regularity of fome figures, and the graceful variety of others, are the foundation of the beauty which we difcern in them : but when we endeavour to go a fte.p beyond this, and enquire
SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 11
what is the caufe of regularity and variety producing in our minds the fenfation of beauty, any reafon \ve can produce is extremely imperfect. Thole firft principles of internal fenfation, nature appears to have ftudioufly concealed.
It is fome confolation, however, that although the efficient caufe be obfcure, the final caufe of thofe fenfa- tions lies commonly more open : and here we muft ob- ferve, the ftrong impreffion which the powers ofTafte and Imagination are calculated to give us of the bene- volence of our Creator. By thefe endowments, he hath widely enlarged the fphere of the pleafures of human life ; and thofe, too, of a kind the moft pure and inno- cent. The neceflary purpofes of life might have been amply anfwered, though our fenfes of feeing and hearing had only ferved to diftinguiih external objects, without giving us any of thofe refined and delicate fenfations of beauty and grandeur, with which we are now fo much delighted.
The pleafure which arifes from fublimity or grandeur deferves to be fully confidered j becaufe it has a charac- ter more precife and diftin6Uy marked, than any other of the pleafures of the imagination 3 and becaufe it coin- cides more diredtly with our main fubjeft. The fimpleft form of external grandeur is feen in the vaft and bound- lefs profpe&s prefented to us by nature; fuch as wide extended plains, to which the eye can find no limits ; the firmament of heaven ; or the boundlefs expanfe of
12 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
the ocean. All vaftnefs produces an idea of fublimity. Space, however extended in length, makes not fo ftrong an impreffion as height or depth. Though a boundlefs plain be a grand object, yet a lofty mountain, to "which we look up, or an awful precipice or tower, whence we look down on the objects below, is Hill more fo. The exceffive grandeur of the firmament arifes from its height, added to its boundlefs extent; and that of the ocean, not from its extent alone, but from the continual motion and irrefiftible impetuofity of that mafs of wa- ters. Wherever fpace is concerned, it is evident, that amplitude or greatnefs of extent, in one dimenfion or other, is infeparable frrom grandeur. Take away all bounds from any object, and you immediately render it fublime. Hence infinite fpace, endlefs numbers, and everlafting duration, fill the mind with great ideas.
The moft copious fource of {Jublime ideas feems to be derived from the exertion of great power and force. Hence the grandeur of earthquakes and burning moun- tains ; of great conflagrations j of the boifterous ocean ; of the tempeftuous ftorm ; of thunder and lightning ; and of all the unufual violence of the elements. A ftream which glides along gently within its banks is a beautiful object, but when it precipitates itfelf with the impetuofity and noife of a torrent, it immediately be- comes a fublime one. A race-horfe is beheld with plea- fure j but it is the war-horfe, " whofe neck is cloth' J with thunder," that conveys grandeur in its idea. The
SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 13
engagement of two powerful 'armies, as it is the higheft exertion of human ftrength, combines a variety of iburces of the lliblime ; and has conlequently been ever con- fidered as one of the mod ftriking and magnificient fpec- tacles which can be either prefented to the eye, or ex- hibited to the imagination in deicription.
All ideas of the folemn and awful kind, and even bor- dering on the terrible, tend greatly to affift the fublime ; iuch as darknefs, foKtude, and lilence. The firmament, •when filled with ftars, fcattered in fuch infinite numbers and with fuch fplendid profufion, ftrikes the imagina- tion \vith a more awful grandeur than when we behold it enlightened by all the fplendour of the fun. The deep found of a great bell, or the ftriking of a great clock, are at any time grand and awful: but, when heard amid ft the filence and ftillnefs of the night, they become doubly ftriking. Darknefs is very generally ap- plied for adding fublimity to all our ideas of the Deity. " He raaketh darknefs his pavilion ; he dwelleth in the " thick cloud." Thus Milton —
. How oft, amiJft
Thick clouds and dark, does Heaven's all-ruling Sire Chufe to refide, his glory imobfcuied ; And, with the majefty of darknefs, round Circles his throne m
Obfcurity, we may further remark, is favourable to the fub'im,?. The defcriptions givenms of the appe'ar- C
14 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
ance of fupernatural beings carry fome fublimity, though the conceptions which they afford us be confuted and indiftinft. Their fublimity arifes from the ideas which they always convey of fuperiour power and might, con- nected with an awful obfcurity. No ideas, it is evident, are fo fublime as thofe derived from the Supreme Being : the moil unknown, yet the greateft of all objects ; the infinity of whofe nature, and the eternity of whofe du- ration, added to the omnipotence of his power, though they furpafs our conceptions, yet exalt them to the higheft.
Diforder is alfo very compatible with grandeur,- nay, frequently heightens it. -Few things which are exaftly regular and methodical, appear fublime. We difcover the limits on every fide 5 we perceive ourfelves confined ; . there is no room for any considerable exertion of the mind. Though exaft proportion of parts enters often into the beautiful, it is much difregarded in the fublime. An immenfe mafs of rocks, thrown together by the hand of nature with wildnefs and confufion, flrike the mind with more grandeur, than if they had been joined to each other with the moft accurate fymmetry.
There yet remains one clafs of Sublime Obje6ls to be mentioned ; which may be termed the Moral or Senti- mental Sublime ; ariling from certain exertions of the mind ; from certain affe£tions and actions of our fellow- creatures. Thefe wilt be found to be chiefly of that clafs which comes under the n^ime of Magnanimity or
SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 15
Heroifmj and they produce an. effect very funilar to what is produced by the view of grand objects in nature ; filling the mind with admiration, and- raifing it above itfelf. Wherever,, in fome critical and dangerous fixa- tion, we behold a man uncommonly intrepid, and rett- ing foldy upon himfelfj fuperiour to paflion and to fear ; animated by ibme great principle to the contempt of popular opinion, of felfifli intereft, of dangers, or of death ; we are there {truck with a fenfe of the fublime. Thus Poms, when taken by Alexander, after a gallant defence, and aikcd in what manner he would be treated ? anfweringj " Like a King!" and Caefar chiding (he pilot who was afraid to fet out with him in a ftorm, " Quid times? Caefarem vehis;" are good inftances of the Senti- mental Sublime.
The Sublime, in natural and in moral obje&s, is pre • iVnted to us in one view, and compared together, in the following beautiful pafiage of Akenfide's Pleafures of the Imagination.
Look then abroad through nature ; to the range Of planets, funs, and adamantine Ipheres, Wheeling, unfhakcn, thro* the void immenfe; And fpjak, O Man ! docs this capacious fcene, With half that kindling majefty, dilate Thy ftrong conception, as when Brutus lofe, Refulgent from the ftroke of Cxfar's fate, Amid the croud of Patriots ; and his arm, Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, C 2
16 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud On Tally's name, and (hook his crimfon ilccl, And bad the father of his country hail ! For lo! the tyiant proftrate on the duft ; And Rome again is free,— — —
It has been imagined by an ingenious Author, that terror is the fource of the fublime ; and that no objects have this character, but fuch as produce impreffions of pain and danger. Many terrible objects are indeed highly fublime} nor does grandeur refufe an alliance with the .idea of danger. But the fublime does not confilt wholly in modes of danger, or of pain. In many grand objects there is not the lead coincidence with terror : as in die inagnificient profpect of wide extended plains, and of the ftarry firmament ; or in the moral difpofilions and fcntiments which -we contemplate with high admiration. In many painful and terrible objects alib, it is evident, there is no fort of grandeur. The amputation of a limb, or the bile of a fnake, are, in the higheft degree, ter- rible ; but are deftitute of all claim whatever to fubli- rnity. It feems juft to allow, that mighty force or power, whether attended by terror or not, whether era- ployed in protecting or in alarming us, has a better title, than any thing which has yet been mentioned, lo be the fundamental quality of the fublime. There appears to be no fublime object, into the idea of which, lirength, and force, either enter not directly, or are not, at leaft, intimately aflbciated, by conducting our thoughts to fome aftoniiliing power, as concerned in the production of the object.
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
JL HE foundation of the Sublime in Compofition mull always be laid in the nature of the object defcribed. We muft except, however, fuch an objeft as, if pre- fented to our fight, if exhibited to us in reality, would excite ideas of that elevating, that awful and magnifi- cent kind, which we call Sublime: the defcription how- ever finely drawn, is not entitled to be placed under this clafs. This excludes all objefts which are merely beau- tiful, gay, or elegant. Betides, the objec\ muft not only in itfelf be fublime, but it muft be placed before us in fuch a light as is beft calculated to give us a clear and full impreffion of it : it muft be defcribed with ftrength, with concifenefs, and fimplicity. This depends chiefly upon the lively impreffion which the poet or orator has of the object which he exhibits ; and upon his being deeply affefted and animated by the fublime idea which he would convey. If his own feeling be languid, he can never infpire his reader with any ftrong emotion. Inftances, which on this fubjecl: are extremely neceflary, will clearly (how the importance of all thefe requilites.
It is chiefly amongft the ancient authors that we are to look for the moft ftriking inftances of the fublipe. C 3
18 SUBLIMITY IX WRITING.
The early ages of the world, and the rude uncultivated ftate of fociety, appear to have been peculiarly favourable to the ftrong emotions of fublimity. The genius of mankind was then very prone to admiration and aftomfli- ment. Meeting continually with new and ilrange ob- jefts, their imagination was kept glowing, and their pailions were often under a high agitation. They thought and expreffed themfelves boldly, and without reftraint. In [the progrefs of fociety, the genius and manners of men have undergone a change more favour- able to accuracy than to flrength or fublimity.
Of all writings, whether ancient or modern, the Sa- cred Scriptures a fiord as the moft ftriking inftances of the fublime. There the defcriptions of the Supreme Being are wonderfully noble ; both from the grandeur of the object, and the manner of reprefenting it. "What a collection of awful and fublime ideas is prefented to us in that paflage of the eighteenth pfalm, where an appear- ance of the Deity is defcribed ! " In my diftrefs I called " upon the Lord; he heard my voice out of his temple, " and my cry came before him. Then the earth ihook " and trembled ; the foundations 'of the hLlls were. " moved ; becaufe he was wroth. He bowed the hea- " yens and came down, and darknefs was under his ^ feet ; and he did ride upon a cherub, and did fly j " yea, he did fly upon the wings of the -winds. He "• made darknefs his fecret place : his pavilion round " about him \srere dark waters, and thick clouds of
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. IQ
" the Iky." The circumftances of darknefs and ter- ror are here applied with propriety and fuccefs, for heightening the fublime.
The celebrated inftance given by Longinus, from Mofes, " God faid, let there be light 5 and there was " light," belongs to the true fublime ; and its fublimity arifes from the ftrong conception it conveys, of an effort of power producing its effect with the utmoft expedi- tion and eafe. A fimilar thought is magnificently ex- panded in the following pafiage of Ifaiah (chap. xxiv. 24, 27, 28.) " Thus faith the Lord, thy Redeemer, " and he that formed thee from the womb : I am the " Lord that maketh all things ; that ftretcheth forth the " heavens alone j that fpreadeth abroad the earth by '•" myfelf ; that faith to the deep, be dry, and I will " dry up thy rivers ; that faith to Cyrus, he is my " Ihepherd, and fhall perform all my pleafure ; even, " faying to Jerufalem, thou fhalt be built j and to the " Temple, thy foundation fhall be laid."
Homer has, during all ages, been univerfally admired for fublimity ; and he is indebted for much of his gran- deur to that native and unaffected fimplicity which cha- racterizes his manner. His defcriptions of conflicting armies ; the fpirit, the fire, the rapidity which he throws into his battles, prefent to every reader of the Illiad, fre- quent inftances of fublime writing. The majefty of his warlike fcenes are often heightened, in a high de- gree, by the introduction of the Gods. In the twen-
20 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
tieth book, where all thefe fuperior beings take part in the engagement, according as they feverally favour either the Grecians or the Trojans, the poet appears to put forth one of his higheft efforts ; ' and the defcrip- tion rifes into the molt awful magnificence. AJ1 nature feems to be in commotion. Jupiter thunders through the fky ; Neptune fmites the earth with his trident ; the {hips, the city, and the mountains tremble : the earth {hakes to its centre ; Pinto leaps from his throne, fearing left the fecrets of the infernal regions {hould be laid open to the view of mortals. We {hall tranfcribe Mr. Pope's tranflation of this paflage ; which, though perhaps inferior to the original, is yet highly animated and fublime.
But when the Powers defcending fwell'd the fight, Then tumult rofe, fierce rage, and pale affright : Now thro' the trembling fhores Minerva calls, And now fhe thunders from the Grecian walls ; Mars, hov'ring o'er his Troy, his terror ftnouds In gloomy tempefts, and a night of clouds ; Now thro' each Trojan heart he fury pours With voice divine, from Ilion's topmoft tow'rs ; Above, the Sire of Gods his thunder rolls, And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles ; Beneath, ftern Neptune makes the folid ground, The forefts wave, the mountains nod around ; Thro' all her fummits tremble Ida's woods, And from their fources boil her hundred floods; Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain, And the tofs'd navies beat the heaving main ;
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 21
D-ep in th* difmal region of the dead, The infernal Monarch reai'd his horrid head, Leap: from his throne, left Neptune's arm Ihould lay His dark dominions open to the day; And pour in light on Pluto's diear abodes, Ahhoi'd by men, and dreadful e'en to Gods ! Such wars the Immortals wage ; fuch horrors rend The world's vaft concave, when the Gods contend.
Concifenefs and limplicity will ever be found eflentiul to fublime writing. Simplicity is properly oppofed to ftudied and profule ornament ; and concifenefs to fu- pcrfluiiy of u-proo^n it will eafily appear, why a defeft either in concifenefs or
y s
hurtful to the fublime. The emotion exciteu v. ^g mind by fome great or noble objeft, raifes it confiderably above its common pitch. A fpecies of enthufiafm is produced, extremely pleafing while it lafts. j but from which the mind is tending every moment to fink into its ordinary tone or fituation. When an author, there- fore, has brought us, or is endeavouring to bring us into this ftate, if he multiplies words unneceffarily, if he decks the fublime object, on all fides, with glittering orna- ments ; nay, if he throws in any one decoration which falls in the leaft below the principal image, that moment he changes the key; he relaxes the tenfion of the mind; the ftrength of the feeling is emafculated ; the Beau- tiful may remain, but the Sublime is extinguifhed. Homer's defcription of the nod of Jupiter, as (haking the heavens, has been admired,, in all ages, as wonder-
22 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
fully fublime. Literally tranflated, it runs thus : " He " fpoke, and bending his fable brows, gave the awful " nod ; while he ihook the celeftial locks of his im- " mortal head, all Olympus was fhaken." Mr. Pope tranflates it in this manner.
He fpoke ; and awful bends his fable browj, Shakes his ambroilal curls, and gives the ncdf The ftzmp of fate, and fanaion of a god : High heaven with trembling the drf-ad fsgnal took, And all Olympus to its centre fhook.
The image is expanded, and attempted to be beau- tified j but in realitv \t « ~~i«-~i. TUC tmrd line— " The &*—& ol fate' an(^ fan6tion of a God," is entirely ^pletive, and introduced only to fill up the rhyme ; for it interrupts the defcription, and clogs the image. For the fame reafon, Jupiter is reprefented as lhaking his locks before he gives the nod : " Shakes his ambrofial " curls, and gives the nod/' which is trifling and infignificant : whereas, in the original, the hair of his head fhaken is the confequence of his nod, and makes a happy pi6turefque circumftance in the defcription.
The boldnefs, freedom, and variety of our blank verfe, is infinitely more propitious than rhyme, to all kinds of fublime poetry. The fulled evidence of this is afforded by Milton; an author whofe genius led him peculiarly to the fublime. The whole firft and fecond books of Paradife Loft are continued examples of it. Take only, for inftance, the following noted defcription
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 23
of Satan, after his fall, appearing at the head of his in- fernal hofts :
He, above the reft,
. In fhapc and gefture proudly eminent, Stood like a tower : his form had not yet loft All her os iginal brightnefs, nor appeared Lefs than Arch-angel ruined ; and the excefs Of glory obfcured : as when the fun new rifen, Looks through the horizontal mifty air, Shorn of his beams ; or, from behind, the moon, In dim eclipfe, difaftrous twilight (heds On half the nations, an<l with fear of change Perplexes monarchs, Darkened fo, yet fhone Above them all th" Arch-angel.
Here a variety of fources of the fublime are joined together: the principal obje£t fuperlatively great ; a high fuperiour nature, fallen indeed, but railing itfelf againft diftrefs j the grandeur of the principal objed heightened, by connecting it with fo noble an idea as that of the fun fuffering an eclipfe 5 this pi&ure, fhaded with all thofe images of change and trouble, of dark- nefs and terror, -which coincide fo exquifitely with the fublime emotion ; and the whole exprefled in a ftyle and verification familiar, natural, and fimple, but magnificent.
Befides fimplicity and concifenefs, ftrength is efTen- tially neceflary to fublime writing. The ftrength of defcription proceeds, in a great meafure, from a fimple concifenefs ; but it implies fomething more, namely, a
24 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
judicious choice of circumftances in the defcription, fo as to exhibit the object in its full and moft advantageous point of view. For every object has feveral faces, if the exprefiion be allowed, by which it may be prefented to us, according to the circumftances with which we fur- round it j and it will appear fuperlatively fublime, or otherwife, in proportion as all thefe circumftances are happily choien, and of a fublime kind. In this the great art of the writer confifts ; and it is, indeed, the principal difficulty of fublime defcription. If the defcription be too general, and divefted of circum- ftances, the object is fhewn in a faint light ; and makes either a feeble impreffion, or no impreflion at all, on the reader. At the fame time, if any insignificant or improper circnmitances are mingled, the whole is degraded.
The nature of that emotion which is aimed at by fub- lime defcription, admits of no mediocrity, and cannot fubfift in a middle ftate ; but muft either highly tranf- port us, or, if unfuccefsful in the execution, leave us exceedingly difappointed anddifpleafed. We endeavour to rife along with the writer : the imagination is awakened, and put upon the ftretch ; but it ought to be fupported ; and if, in the midft of its effort, it be deferted. unexpectedly, it muft deicend with a rapid and painful fhock. When Milton, in his battle of the An- gels, reprefents them as tearing up the mountains, and throwing them at one another ; there are in his de-
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. '25
Jcription, as Mr. Addilbn has remarked, no circum- riances but what are truly fublhne :
From their foundations loos'ning to and fro, They pluck'd the featcd hills, wkh all their load, Rocks, waters, woods ; and by the ftiaggy tops Uplifting, bore them in their hands.
This idea of the giants throwing the mountains, which is in itfelf fo grand, is rendered by Claudian burlefque and ridiculous ; by the fingle circumflauce, of one of his giants with the mountain Ida upon his {boulders, and a river which flowed from the mountain, running down the giant's back, as he held it up in that pofture. Virgil, in his defcription of Mount TEtna, has been guilty of a flight inaccuracy of this kind. After leveral magnificent images, the poet concludes with perfonifying the mountain under this figure,
i. •' Eruftans vifcera cum gemitu" —
•' belched up its bowels with a groan •" which, by making the mountain refemble a lick or drunken perfon, degrades the mnjefty of the de-icription. The debating efFe6t of this idea will appear in a ftronger light, by observing what figure it makrs in a poem of Sir Richard Blackmore ; who, through an extravagant perverfity of tafte, had felefted it for the principal cir- cumftance in his defcription; and thertby (as Dr. Ar- bathnot humouroufly oblerves) had reprefentcd the mountain as in a lit of the cholic. D
SUBLIMITY IX WRITING.
a-, and all the burning mountains, find Their kindled (lores, with inbied itotms of wind, Blown up to rage, and roaring out, complain, As torn with inward gripes and torturing pain ; Labouring, they caft their dreadful vomit remnH, And with their incited bowels fpread the ground.
Such inftances fhow how much the fublime depends upon a proper feledion of circumftances; and with how great care every circumftance mult be avoided, which, by approaching in the fmalleft degree to the mean, or even to the gay or the trifling, changes the tone of the emotion.
What is commonly called the fublime ftyle, is, for the molt part, a very bad one ; and has no relation what- ever to the true Sublime. Writers are apt to imagine that fplendid words, accumulated epithets, and a certain fwelling kind of expreffion, by riling above what is caftomary or vulgar, contributes to, or even confii- tates the fublime : yet nothing is, in reality, more falfe. In genuine inftances of fublime writing, nothing of this kind appears. " God faid, let there be light ; "and there was light." This is truly (hiking and fub- Ifme ; but put into what is vulgarly called the fublime ftyle ; " The Sovereign Arbiter of Nature, by the po- " tent energy of a fingle word, commanded the light to " exift;" and, as Boileau has jufdy obferved, the ilyle is indeed raifed, but the thought is humbled. In ge- neral it may be obferved, that the fublime lies in the thought, not in the expreffion ; and when the thought
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 27
is really noble, it will generally clothe itlelf in a native majefty of language.
The faults oppofite to the Sublime are principally two ; the Frigid and the Bombaft. The Frigid confifts in degrading an object, or fentiment, which is fublime in itfdf, by a mean or inadequate conception of it; cr by a weak, low, or puerile defcriplion of it. This be- trays entire abfence, or at leaft extreme poverty of genius. The Bombaft lies in forcing a common or tri- vial obje£t out of its rank, and endeavouring to raiie it into the fublime; or, in attempting to exalt a fublime •bje& beyond all bounds of nature and propriety.
D2
BEAUTY, AND OTHER PLEASURES ov TASTE
-OEAUTY, next to Sublimity, affords, undoubtedly, the higheft pleafure to the imagination. The emotion \vhich it raifes, is eafily dim'nguimed from that of fub- limity. It is of a more gentle kind ; it is more calm anri Toothing •, it does not elevate the mind fo much, but produces a pleating ferenity. Sublimity «?vrifes a feeling, too violent to be lafting j the pleafure proceed- ing from Beauty admits of longer duration. It extends alib to a much greater variety of objects than Sublimity : to a variety indeed fo great, that the fenfations which beautiful objects excite, differ exceedingly, not in degree only, but alfo in kind, from each other. Hence, no word is ufed in a more undetermined fignification than Beauty. It is applied to almoft every external obje6l which pleafes the eye or the ear; to many of the graces of writing ; to feveral difpofi lions of the mind : nay, to fome objects of mere abftract fcience. We fpeak frequently of a beautiful tree or flower ; a beau- tiful poem ; a beautiful character j and a beautifuj theorem in mathematics.
Colour feems to afford the iirapleft inftance of Beauty. Aflbciation of ideas, it is probable, has fome influence on the pleafure which we receive from colours. Green, for example, may appear more beautiful, by being con-
BEAUTY. 2Q
netted in our ideas with rural fcenes and profpc-cts ; white, with innocence ; blue, with the ferenity of the iky. Independant of affociations of this fort, all that we can farther obferve refpccting colours is, that thofe chofen for Beauty are commonly delicate, rather than glaring. Such are the feathers of feveral kinds of birds, the leaves of flowers, and the tine variation of colours fliown by the Iky at the riling and letting of the fun.
Figure opens to us forms of Beauty more complex and diverliried. Regularity firft oilers itfelf to obfervation as a fource of Beauty. By a regular figure is under- ftood, one which we perceive to be formed according to fome certain rule, and not left arbitrary or loofe, in th- conftruclion of its parts. Thus a circle, a fqua :.•.-. ?• triangle, or a hexagon, give pleafure to the eye, by tlu-ir regularity, as beautiful figures : yet a certain graceful variety is perceived to be a much more powerful piirj- ciple of Beauty. Regularity teems to appear beautiful to us, chiefly, if not entirely, on account of its fuggeft- ing the ideas of fitnefs, propriety and ufe, which have always a more intimate connection with orderly and proportioned forms, than with thofe which appear not conftrufted according to any certain rule. Nature, who is the moft graceful art ill, hath, in all her ornamental v/orks, purfued variety, with an apparent difregard of regularity. Cabinets, doors, and windows, are made .-ifr«v n regular form, in cubes and parallelograms, with D3
30 BEAUTY AND OTHER
an exa6t proportion of parts; and thus formed, they pleafe the eye for this juft reafonj that being works of ufe, they are, by fuch figures, the better adapted to the ends for which they were defigned. Yet plants, flowers, and leaves, are full of variety and diverfity. A ftraight canal is an infipid figure, when compared with the meanders of rivers. Cones and pyramids have their degree of beauty ; but trees growing in their natural wildnefs, have infinitely more beauty than when trim- med into pyramids and cones. The apartments of a lioufe muft be diipofed with regularity, for the conveni- ence of its inhabitants; but a garden, which is intended merely for beauty, would be extremely difgufting, if it had as much uniformity and order as a dwelling-houfe.
Motion affords another fburce of Beauty, diftlnft from figure. Motion of itfelf is pleafing ; and bodies in motion are, " caeteris paribus," univerfally preferred to thofe at reft. Gentle motion, however only belongs to the Beautiful ; for when it is fwift, or very powerful, fuch as that of a torrent, it partakes of the Sublime. The motion of a bird gliding through the air, is exqui- fitely beautiful ; but the fwirtnefs with which lightning darts through the iky, is magnificent and aftonifliing. And here it is neceffary to obferve, that the fenfations of fublime and beautiful are not always diftinguifhed by very diftant boundaries ; but are capable, in many in- ftafices, of approaching towards each other. Thus, a gently running ftream is one of the moft beautiful ob-
PLEASURES OP TASTE. 31
jedts in nature : hut as it fwells gradually into a great river, the beautiful, by degrees, is loft in the fublime. A young tree is a beautiful object ; a fpreading ancient oak is a venerable and fublime one. To return, how- ever to the beauty of motion : it will be found to hold very generally, that motion in a ftraight line is not fo beautiful as in a waving dire&ion ; and motion upwards is commonly alfo more pleafing than motion downwards. The eafy curling motion of flame and fmoke, is an ob- ject fingularly agreeable. Mr. Hogarth oblerves very ingenioufly, that all the common and necefTary motions for the purpofes of life, are performed by men in ftraight or plain lines j but that all the graceful and ornamental movements are made in curve lines ; an obfervation worthy of the attention of thofe who ftudy the grace of gefture and action.
Colour, figure, and motion, though they are feparate principles of Beauty; yet in many beautiful objects they meet together, and thereby render the beauty both greater and more complex. Thus in flowers, trees, and animals, we are entertained at the fame time with the delicacy of the colour, with the graceful nefs of the figure, and fometimes likewife with the motion of the object. The moft complete aflembl age of beautiful objects which can any where be found, is prefented by a rich natural landfcape, where there is a fufficient variety of objects : fields in verdure, fcattered trees and flowers, running water, and animals grazing. If to thefe be added, fome
32 BEAUTY AND OTHER
of the productions of art, which are proper for fuch a fcene ; as a bridge with arches, over a river, fmoke riling from cottages in the inidfl of trees, and the diftant view of a fine building difcovered by the rifing fun ; we then enjoy, in the higheft perfection, that gay, chearful, and placid fenfation which charecterizes Beauty.
The Beauty of the human countenance is more vari- ous and complex than any that we have yet examined. It comprehends the Beauty of colour, anting from the delicate {hades of the complexion ; and the Beauty of figure ariling from the lines which conftitute the dif- ferent features of the face. But the principal Beauty of the countenance depends upon a myfterious expreffion which it conveys of the qualities of the mind ; of good fenfe, or good humour ; of candour, benevolence, fenfi- bility, or other amiable difpbfitions. It may be ob- ferved, that there are certain qualities of the mind which, whether exprefTed in the countenance, or by words, or by a6tions, always raife in us a feeling fimilar lo that of Beauty. There are two great clafles of moral qualities ; one is of the high and the great virtues, which require extraordinary efforts, and is founded on dangers andfufferingsj asheroifm, magnanimity, a fcorn of plea- lures, and the contempt of death. Thefe, produce in the fpectator an idea of fublimity and grandeur. The other clafs is chiefly of the focial virtues, and fuch as are of a fofter and gentler kind 3 as compaflion, mild- aefs, and generofity. Thefe excite in the beholder a
PLEASURES OP TASTE. 33
fen fation of pleafure fo nearly allied to that excited by beautiful external objects, that, though of a more ex- alted nature, it may without impropriety be clalTed un- der the fame head.
Beauty of Writing, ufed in its more definite fcnfe, characterizes a particular, manner -} when it is to fignify a certain grace and amenity in the turn either of ftyle or fentiment, for which fome authors have been parti- cularly difiinguifhed. In this fenfe, it comprehends a manner neither remarkably fublime, nor extravagantly paffionate, nor uncommonly fparkling j but fuch as excites in the reader an emotiuu uf the gently pleating kind, refembling that which is raifed by trie, contem- plation of beautiful objects in nature; which neithti lifts the mind very high, nor agitates it to excefs j but fpreads over the imagination an agreeable and compla- cent ferenity. Mr. Addifon is a writer entirely of this character j and is "one of the moft proper examples which can be given of it. Fenelon, the 'author of Tele- machus, may be considered as another example. Virgil alfo, though very capable of riling occafionally into the fublime, yet generally is diftinguifhed by the character of beauty and grace, rather than of fublimity. Among orators, Cicero has more of the beautiful than Demoft- henes, whofe genius carried him ftrongly towards ve- hemence and pathos.
This much it is neceflary to have faid upon the fub- ject of Beauty j fince, next to Sublimity, it is the moil
34 BEAUTY AND OTHER
copious fource of the Pleafures of Tafte. But obje&s do not only delight the imagination by appearing under the forms of fublime or beautiful. They likewife derive their power of giving it pleafure from feveral other principles.
Novelty, for example, has been mentioned by Mr. Addifon, and by every writer on this fubjeft. An ob- jed which has no other merit than being uncommon or new, by means of this quality alone, raifes in the mind a vivid and an agreeable emotion. Hence that paffion of curiofity, which prevails ib univerfally among mankind. Objects ar>J tJ^«^ iu wmcn \ve have oeen lono1 accnftoilied» make too faint an impreflion to give an agreeable exercife to our faculties. New and flrange objects roufe the mind from its dormant ftate, by giving it a fudden and pleafing impulfe. Hence, in a great meafure, the entertainment \ve receive from fiction and romance. The emotion raifed by Novelty is of a more lively and awakening nature than that produced by Beauty ; but much fhorter in its duration. For if the object has in itfelf no charms to retain our attention, the finning glofs fpread over it by Novelty foon wears away.
Imitation is alfo another fource of pleafure to Tafte. This gives rife to what Mr. Addifon calls, the Secon- dary Pleafures of Imagination ; which form, undoubt- edly, a very extenfive clafs. For all imitation conveys fome pleafure to the mind ; not only the imitation ef
PLEASURES OF TASTE. 35
beautiful or fublime objects, by recalling the original ideas of beauty or grandeur which fuch objects them- felves exhibited ; but even objects which have neither beauty nor grandeur ; nay, fome which are terrible or deformed, give us pleafure in a fecondary, or rcpre- fented view.
The pleafures of melody and harmony appertain likewife to Tafte. There is no delightful fenfation we receive either from beauty or fublimity, but what is capable of being heightened by the power of mufical found. Hence the charm of poetical numbers; and even of the more concealed and loofer meafures of prole. Wit, humour, and ridicule, open likewife a variety of pleafures to Tafte, altogether different from any that have yet been considered.
At prefent, it is not necefiary to purfue any farther the fubject: of the Pleafures of Tafte. We have opened fome of the general principles : it is time now to apply them to our chief fubject. If it be afked, to what clafs of thofe Pleafures of Tafte which have been enumerated, that pleafure is to be referred, which we receive from poetry, eloquence, or fine writing? ^jTlie anfwer is, not to any one, but to them all. This peculiar advantage writing and difcourfe poflefs, that they encompafs fo Urge and fruitful a field on all fides, and have power to exhibit, in great perfection, not a fingle fet of objects only, but almoft the whole of thofe which give pleafure to tafte and imagination; whether that pleafure ariie
36 BEAUTY AND OTHER
from fublimity, from beauty in its various forms, from defign and art, from moral fentiment, from novelty, from harmony, from wit, humour, and ridicule. To which ever of thefe the peculiar inclination of a perfon's tafle is directed, from fome writer or other he has it always in his power to receive the gratification of it.
It has been ufual among critical writers, to treat of difcourfe as the chief of all the imitative or mimetic arts. They compare it with painting and with fculp- ture, and in many refpe&s prefer it juftly before them. But it muft be obferved, that imitation and delcription differ confiderably in their nature from each other. Words have no natural refemblance to the ideas or ob- jects which they are employed to rignify j but a ftatue or a picture has a natural likenefs to the original.
As far, however, as a poet or an hiftorian introduces into his work perfons really fpeaking, and by the words which he puts into their mouths, reprefents the con- verfation which they might be fuppofed to hold ; fo far his art may more juftly be called imitative : and this is the cafe in every dramatic compofition. But in narrative or defcriptive works it cannot with propriety be called fo. Who, for example, would call Virgil's defcription of a tempeft, in the firft JEneid, an imitation of a ftorm ? If we heard of the imitation of a battle, we might naturally think of fome mock-fight, or reprefen- tation of a battle on the ftage ; but would never ima- gine, that it meant one of Homer's deicriptimw in the
PLEASURES OF T-ASTE. 37
Iliad. It muft be allowed, at the fame time, that imitation and defcription agree in their principal effe£t, of recalling, by external figns, the ideas of tilings which we do not fee. But, though in this they coincide, yet it Ihould be remembered, that the terms themlelves are not iynonimous ; that they import different means of producing the fame end ; and coaiequently make dif- ferent inipreffionc) on the mind.
ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.
T
JL O form an adequate idea of the Rife and Origin of
Language, it i.s necelfary to contemplate the circumftan- ces of mankind in their earlier! and rudeft ftate. They were then a wandering, fcattered race ; no fociety among them except families ; and the family fociety alfo very imported, as their mode of living, by hunting or paflurage, muit have fepa rated them frequently from each other. In fnch a condition, how could any one fet of founds or words be univerfally agreed on as the figns of their ideas ? Supposing that a few, whom chance or neceffity threw together, agreed, by fome means, upon certain figns; yet by what authority could thefe be propagated among other tribes or families, fo as to fpread and grow up into a language? One would imagine, that men muft have been previouily gathered together in confiderable numbers, before language could be fixed and extended ; and yet, on the other hand, there feems to have been an abfolute neceffity of fpeech, previous to the formation of fociety : for, by what bond could any multitude of men be kept together, or be connected in the profecution of any common intereft, until, by the affiftance of fpeech, they could commu- nicate their wants and intentions to each other ': So that either how fociety could fubfift previous to language, or
OF LANGUAGE. 3Q
how words could rite into a language, previous to the formation of ibciety, feem to be points attended with equal difficulty. And when we confider farther, that curious analogy which prevails in the coniiruiStion of almoft all languages, and that deep and fubtile logic on which they are founded, difficulties iucreaie fo much upon us, on all fides, that there ieems to be no finall reafon for referring the nrll origin of all language to divine infpiration.
But fnppofing language to have a divine original, we cannot, however, imagine that a perfect fyftem of it was all at once given to man. It is much more natural to fuppofe, that God taught our firft parents only fuch language as fuited their prefent occafions; leaving them, as he did in other refpects, to enlarge and improve it as their future neceflities fhould require : confeq-uently thofe firft rudiments of fpeech mufl have been poor and .narrow j and we are at full liberty to enquire in what manner, .and by what fteps, language advanced to the ilate in which we now find it.
Should we fuppofe a period to exift'before any words were invented or known, it is evident that men could have no other method of communicating their feelings to others, than by the cries of paflion, accompanied by by fuch motions and gelhires as were farther expreflivc of emotion : Thefe, indeed, are the only figns which nature teaches all men, and which are underftood by E 2
4O ORIGIN AND PROGRESS
all. One who fa\v another going into fome place where he himfelf had been frightened, or expofed to danger, and who withed to warn his neighbour of the danger, could contrive no other method of doing it than by ut- tering thole cries, andmakingthofegeftures, which are the %ns of fear : juft as two men, at this day, would endeavour to make themfelves underftood by each other, who fhould be thrown together on a defolate iiland, ignorant of each other's language. Thofe excla- mations, therefoic, by grammarians called interjections, uttered in a lirong and paffionate manner, were, un- doubtedly, the firft elements or beginnings of fpeech.
When more enlarged communication became requi- fite, and names began to be applied to objects, how can we fuppofe men to have proceeded in this application of names, or invention of words? Certainly, by affimi- lating, as much as they could, the nature of the ob- ject which they named, to the found of the name which they gave to it. As a painter, who would re- prefent grafs, muft mskeyufe of a green colour; fo in the infancy of language, one giving a name to any tiling haiih or boifterous, would of courfe employ a harfh and boifterous found. He .could not act other- wife, if he defired to excite in the hearer the idea of that object which he wifhed to name. To imagine words invented, or names given to things, in a manner purely arbitrary, without any ground or realbn, is to .fuppofe an effect without a caufe. There muft always
Or LANGUAGE. 41
have been feme motive, which led to one name rather than another ; and we can fuppofe no motive which would more generally operate upon men in their firft efforts towards language, than a defire to paint by fpeech the objects which they named, in a manner more or lefs compleat, according as it was in the power of the human voice to effect this imitation.
Wherever objects were to he diftinguiflied, in which found, noife, or motion were concerned, the imitation by words was fufficiently obvious. Nothing was more natural than to imitate, by the found of the voice, the quality of the found or noife which any external object produced ; and to form its name accordingly. Thus, in all languages, we difcover a multitude of words which are evidently contracted upon this principle. A certain bird is called the Cuckoo, from the found which it emits. When one fort of wind is faid to ivhljUe, and another to roar ; when a ferpent is faid to life ; a fly to luzz, and falling timber to crajb ; when a ftream is faid to flow, and hail to rattle; the rcfcui- blance betwixt the word and the thing fignificd is plainly difcernible. But in the names of objects which addrefs the fight only, where neither noife nor motion are concerned, and ftill more in the terms appropriated to moral ideas, this analogy appears to fail. Yet many learned men have imagined, that, though in fuch cafes it becomes more obfcure, it is not altogether loflj but E 3
42, ORIGIN AND PROGRESS
that throughout the radical words of all languages, there in sy be traced fome degree of correfpondence with the object Signified.
This principle, however, of a natural relation be- tween words and objects, can only be applied to lan- guage in its moft Simple and early State. Though in every tongue fome remains of it can be traced, it were utterly vain to fearch for it throughout the whole con- traction of any modern language. As the multitude of terms increafe in every nation, and the vaft field of language is filled up, words, by a thoufand fanciful ;md irregular methods of derivation and compofition, deviate widely from the primitive character of their roots, and lofe all refemblance in found to the things Signified. This is the prefent ftate of language. Words, as we now ufe them, taken in the general, may be considered as fymbcls, not as imitations ; as arbitrary or instituted, not natural Signs of ideas. But there feems to be no doubt, that language, the nearer we approach to its rife among men, will be found to partake more of a natural expression.
Interjections, it has been Shown, or paffionate excla- mations, were the firft elements of fpeecli. Men la- boured to communicate their feelings to each other, by expreffive cries and geSlures which nature taught them. After words, or names of objects began to be intro- duced, this mode of fpeaking by natural figns couH not be all at once difufed : for language, in its infancy,
OF LANGUAGE. 43
mnft have been extremely barren : and there undoubt- edly was a period, among all rude nations, when con- verfation was carried on by a very few words, inter- mixed with many exclamations and earned gefturcs. The inconfiderable (lock of words which men as yet poffetfcd, rendered thofe helps entirely neceffary for ex- plaining their conceptions ; and rude, uncultivated indi- viduals, not having always ready even the few words which they knew, would naturally labour to make themfelves underftood, by changing their tones of voice, and accompanying their tones with the moft cxpreflive gefliculations they could make.
To this mode of fpeaking neceflity firft gave rife. But we mull obferve, that alter this necelh'ty had, in a great degree, ceafed, by language becoming, in procefs of time, more extenfive and copious, the ancient man- ner of fpeech m'll fubfifted among many nations ; and what had ariien from neceflity, continued to be ufed for ornament. In the Greek and Roman languages, a mu- fical and gefticulating pronunciation was retained in a very high degree. Without having attended to this, we lhall be at a lofs in underita tiding ieveral paflages of the Claffics, which relate to the public fpeaking and the theatrical entertainments of the ancients. Our modern pronunciation would have feemcd to them a lifelefs mo- notony. The declamation of their orators, and the pro- nunciation of their a6tors upon the flage, approached to the nature of recitative in mulic j was capable of being
44 ORIGIX AND PROGRESS
marked in notes, and fupported with inftrumcnts ; as feveral learned men have fully demouft:
With regard to gcftures, tlie cafe was parallel ; for ftrong tones and animated geftures, we may obferve, always go together. The action both of the orators and the players in Greece and Rome, was far more vehement than that to which we are accuftomed. To us, Rofcius would have appeared a madman. Gefture was of fuch confequence upon- the ancient ftage, that there is reafon for believing, that on fome occasions the fpeaking and the adling part were divided j which, according to our ideas, would form a ftrange exhibition : one player fpoke the words in the proper tones, while another expreffed the correfponding motions and geftures. Cicero tells us, that it was a conteft between him and Rofcius, whether he could exprefs a fentiment in a greater variety of phrafes, or Rofcius in a greater variety of intelligible fignifieant geftures. At laft geiture engrafted the Itage entirely ; for under the reigns of Auguftus and Tibe- rius, the favourite entertainment of the Public was the Pantomime, which was carried on by gefticulation only. The people were moved, and wept at it as much as at tragedies j and the paffion for it became fo violent, tlfat laws were iuftituted for reftraining the fenators from ftudying the pantomime art. Now, though in decla- mations and theatrical exhibitions, both tone and gefture were, undoubtedly, carried much farther than in com- mon difcourfe ; yet public fpeaking of any kind muft,
OF LANGUAGE. 45
in every country, bear forae proportion to the mannei v Inch is ufed in converfation ; and fuch public enter- tainments could never have been relilhed by a nation, \vbofe tones and geftures in diicourie, wrro as languid as ours.
The early language of mankind being entirely com- pofed of words defcriptive of fenfible objects, became, of neceffity, extremely metaphorical. For/ to fignify any defire or paffion, or any act or feeling of the mind, they had ho fixed expreflion which was appropriated to tW purpofe : but were. obliged to paint the emotion or paffion which they felt, by a)imm,b ^ thofc fenfible objects which had moft connection with it, aue. ,vu:cj, could render it, in fome degree, vifible to others.
It was not, however, treceffity alone which gave rife to this pictured ftyle. In the infancy of all focieties, fear and furprife, wonder and aftonifhment, are the moft frequent paffions of mankind. Their language will neceflarily be affected by this character of their minds-. They will be diipofed to paint every thing in the ftrong- eft and moft glowing colours. Even die manner in which the firft tribes of men uttered their words, would have confiderable influence on their ftyle. Wherever ftrong exclamations, tones, and geftures, are connected with converfation, the imagination is always more ex- crcilcd ; a greater effort of fancy and paffion is excited. Thus the fancy being kept awake, and rendered more
46 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS
fprightly by this mode of utterance, operates uport ftyle, and gives it additional life and fpirit.
As one proof, among many others which might be produced, of the truth of thefe obfervations, we lhall tranfcribe a fpeech from Colden's Hiftory of the Five Indian Nations, which was delivered by their Chiefs, when entering on a treaty of peace with us, in the following language. " We are happy in having buried " under ground the red axe, that has fb often been dyed " with the blood of our brethren. Now, in this fort, " we enter the axe, and plant the tree of peace. We " nlant a trr~ >v 1JOie toP w^ reach the fun ; and its tl ^..jcnes fpread abroad, fo that it mall be feen afar " off. May its growth never be ftifled and choaked ; " but may it made both your country and ours with its " leaves ! Let us make fa ft its roots, and extend them " to the utmoft of your colonies. If the French iliould " come to lhake this tree, we would know it by the " morion of its roots, reaching into our country. May " the 'Great Spirit allow us to reft in tranquillity upon <e onr mats, and never again dig up the axe to cut down " the tree of peace ! Let the earth be trod hard over " it, where it lies buried. Let a ftrong fiream run " under the pit, to wafli the evil away out of our fight " and remembrance. The fire that had long burned " in Albany is extinguiflied. The bloody bed is warned '* clean, and the tears are wiped from our eyes. We " now renew the covenant chain of friendlhip. Let it
OF LANGUAGE. 47
" be kept bright, and clean as filver, and not fuffered " to contract any ruft. Let not any one pull away his " arm from it."
As Language, in its progrefs, began to grow more co- pious, it gradually loft that figurative ftyle which was its original characteriflic. The vehement manner of fpeaking by tones and geftures became lefs univerfal. Inftead of Poets, Philofophers became the inftructors of mankind ; and in their reafoning on all fubje&s, intro- duced that plainer and more fimple ftyle of competition, which we now call Profe. Thus the ancient metapho- rical and poetical drefs of Language was, at length, laid afide from the intercourfe of men, and reierved for thofe occafions only on which ornament was profefledly fludied.
RISE AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE AND OF WRITING.
F we examine the order in which words are arranged in a fentence, we find a very remarkable difference be- tween the ancient and modern tongues. The confi- deration of this will ferve to unfold farther the genius of Language, and to dilcover the caufes of thole alter- ations which it has undergone, in the progrefs of fo- ciety.
To conceive diftinctly the nature of this alteration, we muft go back, as before, to the moft early period of Language. Let us figure to ourfelves a Savage, behold- ing fome object, fuch as fruit, which he earnefily de- fires, and requefts another to give it to him. Suppofe him unacquainted with words ; he would then ftrive to make himfelf understood by pointing eagerly at the object vrhich he defired, and uttering at the fame time a paflionate cry. Suppofing him to have acquired words, the firft word which he uttered would, confe- quently, be the nan:e of that object. He would not exprefs himfelf according to our order of contraction, " Give me fruit j" but according to the Latin order, " Fruit give me," — " Fructum da mihi :" for this evi- dent reafon, that his attention was wholly directed towards fruit, the object of his defire. From hence we
LANGUAGE AND OF WRITING. 40
might conclude, a priori, that this would be the order in which words were moll commonly arranged in the infancy of Language ; and accordingly we find, in reality, that in this order words are arranged in moll of the ancient tongues, as in the Greek and die Latin ; and it is faid likewife, in the Rufiian, the Sclavonic, the Gaelic, and feveral of the American tongues.
The modern languages of Europe have adopted a different arrangement from the ancient. In their profe cotnpofitions, very little variety is admitted in the collo- cation of words : they are chiefly fixed to one order, which may be called the Order of the Underftanding. They place firft in the fentence the perfon or thing which fpeaks or acts, next, its action, and finally, the object of its action. Thus an Englifli Writer, paying a compliment to a great man, would fay, " It is ini- " poflible for me to pafs over in filence fuch dirlin- " guiihed mildnefs, fuch unuftui! and unheard of cle- " mcncy, and fuch uncommon moderation, in the " exercife of fupreme power." Here is firlt prelentcd to us the perfon who fpeaks, " It is impofllble for me ;" next, what the fame perfon is to do, " impoifible for " him to pafe over in filcnce ; aiid Inlily, the objert which excites him to action, "• the mildneis, clemency, " nnd moderation of hi.s patron." Cicero, from whom thefe words are tranflated, exactly changes this order ; he begins with the object, places that firft, which was F
5O BISE AXD PROGRESS OF
the exciting idea in the fpeaker's mind, and ends with the fpeakerand his action. " Tantam manfuetudinem, " tarn inulitatam innuditamque clementiam, tantumque " in fimima poteftate rerum omnium inodum, tacitus " nullo rnodo pra'terire pofium." Here, it mult be obferved, the Latin order is more animated ; the Englilh more clear and diftindt.
Onr language naturally allows a greater liberty for trsnfpofition and inverfion in poetry than in profe. Fven there, however, that liberty is confined within narrow limits, in companion of the ancient languages. In this refpedt the modern tongues vary from each other. The Italian approaches the neareft in its cha- racter to the ancient tranfpofition ; the Engliih has more inverfion than the reft ; and the French has the lealt of all. t
Writing is an improvement upon Speed), and con- fequently was pofterior to it in the order of time. Its characters are of two kinds ; either figns for things, or iigns for words. Thus the pictures, hieroglyphics, and fymbols, employed by the Antients, were of the former fort ; the alphabetical characters, now employed by Kuropeans, of the latter.
Pi&ures were, certainly, the firft attempt towards writing. Mankind, in all ages and in all nations, have been prone to imitation. This would foonbe employed for giving impelled descriptions of events, and for re-
LANGUAGE AND OP WRITING. 51
cording their remembrance. Thus, to fignify that one man had killed another, they painted the figure of a dead man lying on the ground, and of another ftanding over him, with a hoftile weapon in his hand. When America was firft dilcovered, this was the only kind of ' writing with which the Mexicans were acquainted. It was, however, a very imperfect mode of recording fa6ts j fince, by pictures, external events could only be deli- neated.
Hieroglyphical characters may be confidered as the fecond ftage of the Art of Writing. They confift in certain fymbols, which are made to reprefent invifible objects, on account of a refemblance which fuch fym- bols were fuppofed to bear to the objects themfelves. Thus, an eye reprefented knowledge ; and a circle, having jieither beginning nor end, was the fymbol of eternity. Egypt was the country where this kind of writing was mod ftudied, and brought into a regular art. In thefe characters all the boafted wifdom of their Friefts was conveyed. They pitched upon animals to be the emblems of moral objects, according to the qua- lities with which they fuppofed them to be endowed. Thus, imprudence was denominated by a fly ; wifdom by an ant : and victory by a hawk. But this fort of writing was in the higheft degree aenigmatical and con- fufed ; and confequentlr a very imperfetil vehicle of knowledge,
F •>
RISE AXD PROGRESS OP
From hieroglyphics mankind gradually advanced to fimple arbitrary marks, which flood for objects, though without any refemblance or analogy to the objects iig- nified. Of this nature was the manner of writing among the Peruvians. They ufed fmall cords of dif- ferent colours ; and by knots upon thefe, of different fizes, and varioufly ranged, they invented figns for giv- ing information, and communicating their thoughts to one another. The Clunefc, at this day, ufe written characters of this nature. They have no alphabet of letters, or fimple founds, of which their words are com- pofed ; but every fingle character which they ufe is ex- preffiveofan idea; it is a mark which fignifies fomc one thing or object. The number of thefe characters muft, confequently, be immenfe. They are faid, indeed, to amount to leventy thoufand. To be perfectly ac- quainted with them is the bufinefs of a whoft: life ; which muft have greatly retarded, among them, the progrefs of every kind of fcience.
It is evident, that the Chinefe characters are, like Ineroglyphics, independent of Language : are ligns of things, and not of words. For we are told, that the Japanefe, the Tonquinefe, and the Coroeans, who fpeak different languages from each other, and from the inha- bitants of China, employ, however, the fame written characters with them, and thus correfpond intelligibly with one another in writing, though ignorant of the lan- guage fpoken in their refpe£Uve countries. Our arith-
AND OF \VRITIXG.
metieal ngures, 1, 2, 3, -i, &c. are an example of thin fort of writing. They have no dependence on words ; each figure reprefents the number for which it fiand* : and confequently, is equally unde.rftood by all the nation* who have agreed in the ule. of thefe figures.
The firft ftep to remedy the imperfection, the ambi- guity, and the tedioufnefs of each of thefe methods of communication which have been mentioned, was th<°. invention of figns, which ihould ftand not directly fot tilings, but for the words by which things were named and diftinguilhed. An alphabet of fyllables fecms to have been invented previous to an alphabet of letters. Such an one is faid to be retained, at this _ clay, in ./Ethio- pia, and fome countries of India. But it mull have been, at belt, imperfect and ineffectual ; fince the num- ber of characters, being very confiderable. muft have rendered both reading and writing very complex and laborious.
To whom we are indebted for the. fublime and refined difcovery of Letters, is not determined. They were brought into Greece by Cadmus the Phoenician, who, according to Sir Jfaac .Newton's Chronology, was con- temporary A'ith King David. His alphabet confiftcd only of fixteen letters. The reft were afterwards added, according as iigns for proper founds were found to be wanting. The Phoenician, Hebrew, Greek, and Koman alphabets, agree fo much in the figure, the names, and F 3
54 RISE AND PROGRESS OP
the arrangement of the letters, as amounts to a demon- ftration, that they were derived originally from the fame fource.
The ancient order of writing was from the right hand to the left. This method, as appears from fome very- old infcriptions, prevailed even among the Greeks. They afterwards ufed to write their lines alternately from the right to the left, and from the left to the right. The infcription on the famous Sigaean Monument is a tefH- mony of this mode of writing, which continued till the days of Solon, the celebrated Legiflator of Athens. At length, the motion from the left hand to the right being found more natural and convenient, this order of wri- ting was adopted throughout all the nations of Europe.
Writing was firft exhibited on pillars, and tables of ftone, afterwards on plates of the fofter metals, fuch as lead. As it became pra6tifed more extenfively, the leaves, and the bark of certain trees, were ufed in fome countries ; and in others tablets of wood, covered with a thin coat of foft was, on which the impreffion was made with a flylus of iron. Parchment, made of the hides of animals, was an invention of later times. Pa- per was not invented till the fourteenth century.
STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE.
JL HE ufual divifion of Speech into eight parts, nouns, pronouns, verbs, participles, adverbs, prepofi- tions, interjections, and conjunctions, might eafily be proved not to be very accurate ; fince, under the gene- ral term of nouns, it comprehends both fubftantives and adjeclives, which are parts of fpeech entirely diftind j while it makes a feparate part of fpeech of participles, which are only verbal adje&ives. Yet as we are mod accuftomed to this divifion, and as logical exa&nefs is not neceflary to our prefent defign, we Ihall adopt thofe terms which habit has made familiar to us.
Subflantive nouns are the foundation of Grammar, and are the moft ancient part of fpeech. When men had got beyond limple interjections or exclamations of paflion, and had begun to communicate their ideas to each other, they would be obliged to aflign names to the objects by which they were furrounded. Whichever way he looked, forefts and trees would meet the eye of the beholder. To diftinguifh the trees by feparate names would have been endlefs. Their common quali- ties, fuch as fpringing from a root, and bearing branches and leaves, would fuggeft a general idea, and a gene- ral name. The genus, a tree, would afterwards be
56 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
fubdivided into its feveral fpecies of oak, elm, am, &c» by experience and obfervation.
Still, however, only general terms of fpeech were adopted. For the oak, the elm, and the afh, were names of whole clafles of objects, each of which com- prehended an immenfe number of undiftinguimed indi- viduals. Thus when the terms man, lion, or tree, were mentioned in com erfation, it could not be known which man, lion, or tree, was meant, among the multitude comprehended under one name. Hence arofe a very ufeful and curious contrivance for determining the indi- vidual object intended, by means of that part of fpeech called the Article. In our language we have two arti- cles, a and the; a is more general, the more definite. The Greeks have but one, o •n n, which agrees with our definite article tie. They fupply the place of our article a, by the abfence of their article : Thus, Avdpu-rros figni- fies a man ; o AvOpvirof, tie man. The Latins have no article, but fupply its place with the pronouns hie, ille, ifte. This, however, feems to be a defect in their lan- guage, fince articles certainly contribute much lo accu- racy and precifion.
To illuflrate this remark, we may obferve the differ- ent imports of the following expreffions : " The friend " of a king — the friend of the king — a friend of the " king's." Each of thefe three phrafes has a feparate meaning, too obvious to be mifunderftood. In Latin, " amicus regis" is entirely undetermined : it may bear
STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 57
any of the three fenfes which have been mentioned ; and requires other words to afcertain its meaning.
Befides this quality of being diftinguifhed by the article, three affections belong to fubftantive nouns 5 number, gender, and cafe, which deferve to be con- fidered.
NUMBER diftinguiflies nouns as one, or many, of the fame kind, called the fingular and plural ; a diftin&ion found in all tongues, and \vhich mufl, indeed, have been coevaJ with trie full origin of language; fince there were few things which men had more fre^p.nt necef- fity of expreffing than the diftin&ion between one cmA many. In the Hebrew, Greek, and fome other ancient languages, we find not only a plural, but a dual num- ber; the origin of which may very naturally be accounted for, from feparate terms of numbering being yet undif- covered, and one, two, and many, being all, or at leaft the principal numeral diftin&ions which mankind, -at firft, had any occafion to make ufe of.
GENDER, which is founded on the diftin<5tion of the two fexes, can, with propriety, be applied to the names of living creatures only. All other fubftantive nouns ought to belong to what is called by Grammarians the neuter gender. Yet in moft langunge.o> a great number of inanimate objeds have been ranked under the like diftinclions of mafculine and feminine. Thus, for in- ftance, in the Latin tongue, evfis, a fword, is mafcu-
58 STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE.
line; fagitta, an arrow, is feminine ; and this afiignation of fex to inanimate obje&s feems to be entirely cafual and capricious. In the Greek and Latin, however, all inanimate objects are not ranked among the mafculine and feminine ; but many of them are likewife claffed where all of them ought to have been, under the neu- ter gender, as faxum, a rock ; mare, the fea. But in the French and Italian tongues, the neuter gender is entirely unknown, and all their names of inanimate ob- jects are put upon the fame footing with thofe of living creatures j and diflributed wit-linn t rofcr> c into mafcu- line and fer»"iine. In the Englifh language, when we ufr common difcourfe, all fubftantive nouns that are not names of living creatures, are neuter without ex- ception. And ours is, perhaps, the only tongue in the known world (except the Chinefe, which is faid to rc- fernble it in this particular) in which the distinction of gender is properly and philofophically attended to.
CASE, in declenfion, declares the ftate or relation which one object bears to another, denoted by fome va- riation made upon the name of that object ; generally in the final letters, and by fome languages, in the ini- tial. All tongues, however, do not agree in this mode of exprefiion. Declenfion is ufed by the Greek and Latin, but in the Englifh, French, and Italian, it is not found; or at moft it exifts in a very imperfect fiate. Tbefe languages exprefs the relations of objects, by means of the words call.d prepofitions, which are the
STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE. 5Q
names of thofe relations, prefixed to the name of the object. Engliih nouns have no cafe whatever, except a fort of a genitive, ufually formed by the addition of the letter S to the noun ; as when we fay " Pope's Dun- " ciad," meaning the Dunciad of Pope. Our perfonal pronouns have likewile a cafe, which correfponds with the accufative of the Latin ; I, me — he, him — who, whom. This, however, is but a diminutive refemblance of that declenfion which is ufed in the ancient lan- guages.
Whether the moderns have given beauty or utility to language, by the abolition of cafes, may perhaps be doubted: they have, however, certainly rendered it more fimple, by removing that intricacy which arofc from the different forms of declenfion, of which the Romans had no lefs than fivej and from all the irregu- larities of the feveral declenfions. By obtaining this fimplicity, it muft be confefled, we have filled language with a multitude of thofe little words called prepofi- tions, which are perpetually recurring in every feutence, and feem to have encumbered fpeech by an addition of terms; and by rendering it more prolix, to have ener- vated its force. The found of modern language has alfo become lefs agreeable to the ear, by being deprived of that variety and fweetnefs which arofe from the length of words, and the change of terminations, occa- fioned by the cafes in the Greek and Latin. But per- haps, the greateft difadvantagc we fuftain by the aboli-
60 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
tion of cafes, is the lofs of that liberty of tranfpofition in the arrangement of words, which the ancient lan- guages enjoyed.
PRONOUNS are the representatives of the fubftantive nouns, and are fubjedt to the fame modifications with them of number, gender, and cafe. We may obferve, however, that the pronouns of the firft and fecond per- fon, / and tbou, have had no diftinftion of gender in any language) for lince they always refer to perfons who are prefent to each other when they fpeak, their fex muft be vifible, and therefore needs not to be dif- tinguifhed by a mafculine or feminine pronoun. But as the third perfon may be abfent, or unknown, the dif- tinftion of gender there becomes requifitc, and conle- quently in our language, it hath all the three genders belonging to it ; tie, Jbe, it. With reipeft to cafes ; even (hofe languages which do not admit them in fub- ftantive nouns, fometimes retain more of them in pro- nouns, for the greater readinefs in expreHing relations ; iince pronouns occur fo frequently in difcourfe. The perfonal pronouns, in Englifli,, are allowed by gramma- rians to poflefs two cafes befides the nominative ; a genitive, and an accufative : 7, mine, me ; tbou, tbine, tbee j le, Us, him; who, zuhofe, ivrom,
ADJECTIVES, or terms of quality, fuch as Jircng, weak, bandfome, ugly, are the plaineft and moft fimple of all that clafs of words which are colled attributive.
STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. l
They arc common to all languages, and muft have been very early invented ; iince objects could neither be diftinguifhed nor treated of in difcourfe, till names were alligned to their different qualities.
G
STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. ENGLISH TONGUE.
'F all the parts of fpeech, VERBS are by far the moil complex and ufeful. From their importance we may juftly conclude, that they were coeval with the origin of language ; though a long time muft have been requisite to rear them up to that accuracy in which they now are found. It is highly probable, as Dr. Smith has obferved, that the radical verb, or the earlieft form of it, in moft languages, would be what we now call the imperfonal verb: "It rains; it thunders ; it is " light j" and the like; as this is the moft fimple form of the verb, and merely declaratory of the exiftence of an event, or of a ftate of things. After pronouns were firft invented, fuch verbs became gradually perfonal, and were extended through all the variety of tenfes and moods.
The tenfes are contrived to imply the feveral diftinc- tions of time. "We think, in general, of no more than its three great divifions, the paft, the prefent, and the future ; and we might fuppofe, that if verbs had been fo contrived as merely to exprefs thefe, no more was neceflary. But language proceeds with much greater art and fubtilty : It divides time into feveral moments ;
STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. Do
it regards time as never landing ftill, but always flow- ing; things paft, as more or lels perfectly cornpleated ; and things future, as more or Ids diftant, by different gradations. Hence the variety of tenfes which are found in almoft every language.
The prefent may, indeed, be always regarded as one indivifible point, which admits of no variety. " I " walk, or I am walking, anibulo" But it is very different with the paft. Even the pooreft language has two or thr«? tenfca to cxprefs its varieties. Ours has no lels than four: 1. A paft a&ion maybe regarded as left unfinished j which forms the imperfecl tenfe, " I was "walking, amlulabam.'" 2. As juft now finifhed : this conftitutes the proper perfect tenie, which, in Englilh, is always exprefled by the help of the auxilary verb, " I " have walked." 3. It may be confidered as finiflied fome time mice ; the particular time left undetermined. " I walked; ambula-vi ;" which may either fignify, " I " walked yefterday, or I walked a twelvemonth ago." This is what Grammarians call an aorift, or indefinite path 4. It may be confidered as finifhed before fomething elfe which is alfo paft. This is the plufquamperfecl. " I had walked ; ambulayeratn. I had walked before " you did me the favour of calh'ng upon me," Our language, we muft perceive with pleafure, has here an advantage over the Latin, which has only three varia- tions upon the paft time.
G 2
64 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
The varieties in the future time are chiefly two ; a fimple or indefinite future : " I (hall walk, ambulabo-" and a fnture having reference to fomething elfe, which is likewife future. " I (hall have walked; ambulavero;" I lhall have walked before he pays me a vifit.
Befide tenfes, verbs admit the diftin6tion of voices, viz. the a<5tive and paffive ; according as the affirmation regards fomething that is done, or fomething that is fuffered : " I love, or I am loved." They admit Jikewife the diftiuction of mouds, which are intended to exprefs the affirmation, whether a6tive or paffive, under different forms. The indicative mood fimply declares a proportion: " I write; I have written." The imperative requires, commands, threatens : " Write " thou; let him write." The fubjundive exprefles the proportion under the form of a condition, or as fubor- dinate to fome other thing, to which a reference is made: " I might write; I could write; I ftiould write, " if the matter were fo and fo." This mode of ex- preffing an affirmation, under fo many various forms, together alfo with the diftincticn of the three perfons, 7, tbou, and be, conftitutes what is called the conjuga- tion of verbs, which comprehends fo extenfive a propor- tion of the grammar of all languages.
Conjugation is reckoned moft perfect in thofe langua- ges which, by changing either the termination or the initial fyllable of the verb, exprefles the greateft number of important circumftances, without the affiftance of
ENGLISH TONGUE. 65
auxiliary verbs. In the Eaftern tongues, the verbs have few tenfes ; but their moods are fo conftru&ed, as to exprefs an extenfive variety of circumftances and relations. In the Hebrew, they fay in one word, with- out the aid of an auxiliary, not only, " I have taught," but, " I have taught exactly, or frequently ; I have " been commanded to teach ; I have taught myfelf." The Greek, which is the moft perfect of nil language?, is very regular and complete in all the moods and tenfes. The Latin, though formed on the fame model, is not fo perfect ; particularly in the paflive voice, which forms moft of the tenfes ; by the aid of the auxiliary "fum." In the modern European tongues conjugation is very de- fective. The two great auxiliary verbs, to bave, and to be, with thofe other auxiliaries which we ufe in Englifh, Jo, Jball, will, may, and can, perfix;ed to the participle, fuperiede, in a great incafnre, the different terminations of moods and tenfes, which formed the ancient conjugations.
The other parts of fpeech, as they admit of no vari- ations, will require only a ihort difcuffion.
Adverbs are an abridged mode of fpeech, cxprefiing, by one word, what might, by a circumlocution, be re- folved into two or more words belonging to the > parts of fpeech : " Valiantly," for inftance, is the fame as " with valour or courage." Hence, adverbs feem to be lefs necefiary, and of later introduction into fpeech G 3
66 STRUCTURE OF LAXGUAGE.
than many other clafies of words ; and confequently the generality of them are derived from other words, pre- vioufly invented and eitabliihed in the language.
Prepofitions and conjunctions ferve to exprefs the relations which things bear to one another, their mutual influence, dependencies, and coherence ; and join words together into intelligible and fignificant proportions. Conjunctions are commonly employed for connecting fentences, or members of fentences; as, and, becaufe, and the like. Prepofitions are ufed for connecting words, by fhowing the relation which one fubftantive noun bears to another j as of, from, to, &c. The beauty and ftrength of every language depends in a great mea- fure, on the proper ufe of conjunctions, prepofhions, and allb thofe relative pronouns, which ferve the fame purpofe of connecting the different parts of difcourfe.
Having thus briefly considered the Structure of Lan- guage in general, we will now enter more particularly into an examination of our own Language.
The Englifli which was fpoken after the Norman Conqueft, and continues to be fpoken now, is a mix- ture of the ancient Saxon and the Norman French, together with fuch new and foreign words, as commerce and learning have, in a fuccefiion of ages, gradually introduced. From the influx of fo many flreams, from the connection of fo many diffimilar parts, it naturally follows, that the Englifli, like every compounded Ian guage, muft be fomewhat irregular. We cannot expect
ENGLISH TONGUE, /
from it, that compleat analogy in ftruirture, which may be found in thofe fimpler languages which have been conftrufted, in a manner, within themfelves, and built on one foundation. Hence, our fyntax is confined, fince there are few marks in the words themfelves, which can {how their relation to each other, or point out either their concordance or their government in the fentence. But if thefe be difadvantages in a compound language, they are balanced by other advantages which attend it; particularly by the number and variety of words with which fuch a language is commonly enriched. Few languages are, in reality, more copious than the Englifh. In all grave fubjects, particularly hiftorical, critical, political, and moral, no complaint can juftly be made of the barrennefs-of our tongue. We are rich likewife in the language of poetry : our poetical ftyle differs connderably from profe, not with refpecl: to numbers only, but in the very words themfelves j which proves, what a compafsand variety of words we can felect and employ, fuited to thofe different occafions. In this we have an infinite fuperiority over the French, whofe poetical language, if it were not diftinguiflied by rhyme, would not appear to differ much, or confiderably, from their ordinary profe. Their language, however fur- pafles ours in exprefling whatever is delicate, gay, and amufing. It is, certainly, the happieft language for converfation in the known world ; but, on the higher fubje6ts of composition, the Englifh is juftly confidered as far fuperior to it.
68 STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE.
The flexibility of a language, or its power of becom- ing either grave and ftrong, or eafy and flowing, or tender and gentle, or pompous and magnificent, as oc- cafions require, is a quality of great confideration in fpeaking and writing. This Teems to depend on die copioufnefs of a language ; the different arrangements of which its words are fufceptible : and the variety and beauty of the found of thofe words, fo as to correfpond to many different fubje&s. The Greek pofTefled thefe requilites in a higher degree than any other language. It fuperadded the graceful variety of its different dia- lects ; and thereby readily afTumed every kind of cha- racter which an author could wifh, from the moft fimple and familiar, to the moft formal and majeflic. The Latin, though exceedingly beautiful, is inferior, in this relpe<5t, to the Greek : It has more of a fettled character of ftatelinefs and gravity ; and is fupported by a certain fenatorial dignity, of which it is difficult for a writer uniformly to diveft it. Among the modern tongues, the Italian poffefles much more flexibility than the French j and feems to be, on the whole, the moft perfect of all the modern dialects which have arifen on the ruins of the ancient. Our language, though unequal to the Italian in flexibility, yet is not deftitute of a con- fiderable degree of this quality. Whoever coniiders the diverfity of ftyle which appears in feme of cur bell writers, will diicover, in our tongue, fuch a circle of exprefliou, fuch a power of accommodation to the va-
ENGLISH TONGUE. 6()
rious taftes of men, as redounds, in the higheft degree, to its reputation.
Our language has been thought to be very deficient in harmony of found : yet the melody of its verfifica- tion, its power of fupporting poetical numbers without the affiftance of rhyme, is a fufficient proof, that it is far from being unharmonious. Even the hiffing found of which it has been accufecl, obtains lefs frequently than has been fufpected j in the final fyllables efpe- cially, where the letter s is transformed into a z, which is one of the founds on which the ear refls with plea- fure ; as in has, tbefe, loves, bears, ace.
It muft, indeed, be admitted, that fmoothnefs is iio* the diftinguifhing chara&eriftic of the Englifh tongue. Strength and expreflivenefs, rather than grace and me- lody, conftitute its character. It profefTes, however, this property, of being the mod fimple, in its form and conftru&ion, of all the European diale&s. It is free from the intricacy of cafes, declenfions, moods, and tenfes. Its words are fubjeft to fewer variations from their original form, than thofe of any other language. Its fubftantives have no diftindion of gender, except what is made by nature; and but one variation in ca/e. Its adjectives admit not of any change, except what exprefies the degree of comparifon. Its verbs, inftead of the varieties of ancient conjugation, admit no more than four or five changes in termination. A few prr- pofitions and auxiliary verbs fupply all the purpofes of
7O STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE.
fignificancy in meaning ; whilft the words, in general", preferve their form unaltered. Hence our language acquires a limplicity and facility, which is the caufe of its being frequently written and Ipoken with inaccuracy. "Vv*e imagine that a competent Ikill in it may be ac- quired without any ftudy ; and that in a fyntax fo nar- row and limited as ours, there is nothing which re- quires attention. But the fundamental rules of fyntax are common to the Englifh as well as to the ancient tongues ; and a regard to them is abfolutely requifite for writing or fpeaking with any degree of purity, ele- gance, or propriety.
Be the advantages or defeats of our language what they may, it certainly deferves, in the higheft degree, our ftudy and attention. The Greeks and Romans, in the meridian of their glory, beftowed the higheft cul- tivation on their refpe&ive languages. The French and Italians have employed considerable induftry upon theirs j . and their example is, indeed, highly laudable, and worthy of imitation. For, whatever knowledge may be gained by the ftudy of other languages, it can never be communicated with advantage, unlefs by thofe who can write and fpeak their own language with pro- priety and Ikill. If the matter of an author be ever fo good and ufeful, his compofitions will always fuffer in the public efleem, if his expreflion be deficient in purity and elegance. At the fame time, the attainment of a correct and polifhed ftyle, is an object which demands
ENGLISH TONGUE. /I
application and labour. If any one fuppofes he can catch it merely by the ear, or acquire it by a hafty perufal of fome of our good authors, he will find him- felf much difappointed. The many grammatical errors, the many impure expreffions, which are to be found in authors who are far from being contemptible, demon- ftrate, that an attentive ftudy of the language is pre- vioufly requifite to the writing of it with propriety and elegance.
STYLE— PERSPICUITY AND PRECISION.
OTYI
rLE is the peculiar manner in which a man ex- prefies his conceptions, by means of language. It is a picture of the ideas which rife in his mind, and of the order in which they are there produced.
The qualities of a good ftyle may be ranked under two heads ; perfpicuity and ornament. It will readily be admitted, that perfpicuity ought to be effentially con- nected with every kind of writing. Without this, the brighteft ornaments of ftyle only glimmer through the dark ; and perplex, inflead of pleafmg the reader. If we are forced to follow a writer with much care, to paufe, and to read over his fentences a fecond time, in order to underftand them fully, he will never pleafe us long. Mankind are too indolent to be fond of fo much labour. Though they may pretend to admire the au- thor's depth, after having difcovered his meaning, they will feldom be inclined to look a fecond time into his book.
The ftudy of perfpicuity claims attention, firft, to iingle words and phrafes, and then to the contraction of fentences. When confidered with refpect to words and phrafes, it requires thefe three qualities ; purity, pro- priety, and precifion.
STYLE, PERSPICUITY,, tkc. 7;*
Purity and propriety of language are often ufed in- diicriminately for each other; and, indeed, they are very nearly allied. A diftinclion, however, Should be made between them : Purity confifls in the ufe of fuch words and fucli constructions as belong to the idiom of the language which we fpeak ; in opposition to thofe words and phrafes which are imported from other lan- guages, or which are obfolete, or new coined, or em- ployed without proper authority. Propriety is the. choice of fuch words as the beft and mod eftablifhed ufage has appropriated to thofe ideas which we intend to exprefs by them. It implies their corred and judi- cious application, in oppofition to vulgar or low expref- fions ; and to words and phrafes, which would be lefs Significant of the ideas that we intend to convey. Style may be pure, that is, it may be entirely Englifh, with- out Scotticifms or Gallicifms, or ungrammatical ex- preflions of any kind, and may, notwithstanding, be deficient in propriety. The words may be ill felefted; not adapted to the lubjecT:, nor fully expreffive of the author's meaning. He has taken them, indeed, from the general mats of Englifh language ; but his choice has been made without happinefs or Ikill. Style, how- ever, cannot be proper without being pure : it is the union of purity and propriety which renders it graceful and perfpicuous.
The exa£l meaning of precision may be understood H
74 STYLE, PERSPICUITY
from the etymology of the word. It is derived from " pracidere" to cut off: It fignifies retrenching all fuperfluities, and pruning the exprdiion in fuch a man- ner, as to exhibit neither more nor lefs than an exact copy of his idea who ufes it.
The words, which are employed to exprefs ideas, may be faulty in three refpe<5ts. They inaj either not ex- prefs that idea which the author means, but fome other which only refembles, or is related to it ; or, they may exprefs that idea., but not fully and completely ; or they may exprefs it, together with fomething more than he defigns. Precifion is oppofed to thefe three faults, but particularly to the laft, into this, feeble wri- ters are very apt to fall. They employ a multitude of words to make themfelves underftood, as they think, more diftin&ly ; and they only confound the reader. The image, as they place it before you, is always feen double ; and no double image is difiin£t. When an author tells us of his hero's courage in the day of battle, the expreflion is precife, and we underftand it fully. But if, from a defire of multiplying words, he willpraife his courage and fortitude, at the moment he joins thefe words together, our idea begins to waver. He intends to exprefs one quality more ftrongly ; but he is, in fact, expre (ling two. Courage refifts danger; fortitude fup- ports pain. The occafion of exerting each of thefe qualities is different ; and being induced to think of both together, when only one of them mould engage our
AND PRECISION. 75
attention, our view is rendered unfteady, and our con- ception of the objeft indiftinft.
The great fource of a loofe ftyle in oppofition to precifion, is the inaccurate and unhappy ufe of thole words called fynonymous. Scarcely, in any language, are there two words which exprefs precifely the fame idea ; and a perfon perfectly acquainted with the pro- priety of the language, will always he able to obferve fomething by which they are diftinguifhed. In our language, very many inftances might be given, of a difference in meaning, among words which are thought to be fynonymous ; and as the fubje6t is of importance, we ihall point out a few of them.
Surprized, aftoni/bed, amazed, confounded. We are furprized with what is new or unexpected ; we are aftonifhed at what is vaft or great : we are amazed with what we cannot comprehend ; we are confounded by what is (hocking or terrible.
Pride, vanity. Pride makes us efteem ourfelves; vanity makes us defire the efteem of others.
Haugbtinefs, difdain. Kaughtinefs is founded on the high opinion we have of ourfelves ; difdain on the low opinion we entertain of others.
To ivcary, to fitigve. The continuance of the fame thing wearies us j labour fatigues us. A man is weary with {landing, he is fatigued with walking. H2
7. STYLE, PERSPICUITY
To abhor, to detejl. To abhor, imports, firaply, firong diflike; to deleft, imports likewife ftrong difapproba- tion. I abhor being in debt j I deleft treachery.
To invent, to d'tfcover. We invent things which are new j we difcover what has been hidden. Galilseo in- vented the telefcope ; Harvey difcovered the circulation of the blood.
Entire, complete. A thing is entire, when it wants none of its p^rts ; complete, when it wanls none' of the appendages which belong to it. A man may occupy an entire hoaie j though he has not one complete apartment.
Tranquillity, peace, calm. Tranquillity Cgnifies a fitu- ation free from trouble, confidered iu itfelf : peace, ihe fame fituation, with refpe& to any caufes which might interrupt it j calm, with refpeft to a difturbed fitua- tion going before, or following it. A good man enjoys tranquillity in himfeif \ peace with others j and calm after the ftorm.
Enough, ftifficient. Enough relates to the quantity which we wifli to have of any thing. Sufficient relates to the ufe that is to be made of it. Hence, enough commonly iigaifies a greater quantity than fufficient does. The covetous man never has enough ; though he has what is fuiliuent for nature.
Thefe, are a few, among many, inftances of words in our language, which, by carelefs writers, are apt to be
AND PRECISION. 77
mirtaken for fynonymous. The more the diftinftion in the meaning of fuch words is weighed and attended to, the more accurately and forcibly (hall we fpc; k and. write.
H3
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
A
Proper construction of fentences is of fuch impor- tance in every fpecies of compofition, that we cannot l>e too ftriiSt or minute in our attention to it. For, whatever be the fubjecl, if the fentences be constructed in a clumfy, perplexed, or feeble manner, it is impofiible that a work, compofed of fuch periods, can be read with pleafure, or even with profit. But, by an attention to the rules which relate to this part of ftyle, we acquire the habit of exprefling ourfelves with perfpicuity and elegance; and if a diibrder happen to ariie in fome of oar feutences, we immediately difcover where it lies, and are able to correct it.
The properties moft eflential to a perfect fentence feem to be the four following: 1. Clearnefs and precifion. 2. Unity. 3. Strength. 4. Harmony.
Ambiguity is oppofed to clearnefs and precifion, and arifes from two caufes ; either from a wrong choice of words, or a wrong collocation of them. Of the choice of words, as far as regards perfpicuity, we have already fpoken. Of the collocation of them we are now to treat. From the nature of our language, a leading rule in the arrangement of our fentences is, that the words or members moft nearly related, fhould be placed in the
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 70
ientence as near to each other as poflible ; foas to make their mutual relation clearly appear. This rule is too frequently negle&ed even by good writers. A few instances will mow both its importance and its applica- tion.
In the petition of adverbs, which are ufed to qualify the fignification of fomething which either precedes or follows them, a good deal of nicety is to be obferved. " By greatnefs," fays Mr. Addifon, " I do not only " mean the bulk of any tingle objeft, but the largenefs " of a whole view." Here the fituation of the adverb only renders it a limitation of the following word, mean. " I do not only mean." — The queftion may then be aflted, What, does he more than mean ? Had it been placed after bulk, ftill it would have been im- properly fituated ; for it might then be afked, What is meant betides the bulk ? Is it the colour, or any other property ? Its proper place is, certainly, after the word objt'ff : " By greatnefs I do not mean the bulk of any " fingle obje£t only j" for then, when it is afked, What does he mean more than the bulk of a fingle object ? The anfwer comes out precifely as the author intends, " the largenefs of a whole view." " Theifm," fays Lord Shaftelbury, " can only be oppofed to polytheifm, n or atheifm." It maybe alked then, is theifm capable of nothing elfe, except being oppofed to polytheifm, or atheifm ? This is what the words literally mean, through the improper collocation of only. He ought to have
80 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
faid, '•' Theifm can be oppofed only to polytheifm, or " atheifm." Thefe kind of inaccuracies may have no material inconvenience in converfation, becaufe the tone and eraphafis ufed in pronuncing them generally fervc to mow their reference, and to make the meaning per- fpicuous : but in writing, where a perfon fpeaks to the eye, and not to the ear, he ought to be more accurate j and fhould fo connect thefe adverbs with the words which they qualify, that his meaning cannot be mif- taken on the firftinfpedion.
When a circumftance is interpofed in the middle of a fentence, it fometimes requires art to place it in fuch a manner as to diveft it of all ambiguity. For inflance, " Are thefe defigns," fays Lord Bolingbroke, Difiert. on Parties, Ded. " which any man, who is born a Briton, " in any circumftances, in any lituation, ought to be " afhamed or afraid to avow ?" Here we are hi doubt, whether the words, " in anycircurnftances, in anyfituation" are connected with " a man born in Britain, in any " circumftances, or fituation," or with that man's " avowing his defigus, in any circumftances, or iitu- " ation, into which he may be brought ?" If the latter, as feems moft likely, was intended to be the meaning, the arrangement ought to have been in this form : " Are thefe defignSj which any man who is born a " Briton ought to be afhamed or afraid, in any circum- *' fiances, in any fituation, to avow ?"
Still more attentive care is requilite to the proper
STRUCTURE OP SEXTEXCES. 81
difpofition of the relative pronouns, <wbot wbicb, •what, ivbfl/e ; r.nd of all thofe particles, which exprefs the connexion of the parts of fpeech with one another. Since all reafoning depends upon this connection, we cannot be too accurate with regard to it. A trifling error may obfcure the meaning of the whole fentence j and even where the meaning is apparent, yet where thefe relative particles are mifplaced, we always find Ibmething awkward and disjointed in the ftructure of the period. The following paffage in Biftiop Sherlock's Sermons (vol. 2. ferm. 15) will exemplify thefe obfer- yations : " It is folly to pretend to arm ourfelves againft " the accidents of life, by heaping up treafures, which " nothing can protect us againft, but the good provi- '* dence of our Heavenly Father." Wbicb always refers grammatically to the immediately preceding fubftantive, which here is, " treafures," and this would convert the whole period into nonfenfe. The fentence ihould have been thus constructed : " It is folly to pretend, by " heaping up treafures, to arm ourfelves againft the " accidents of life, which nothing can protect us againft " but the good providence of our Heavenly Father."
We now proceed to the fecond quality of a well arranged fentence, which we termed its Unity. This is an indifpenfible property. The very nature of a fentence implies one proposition to be exprefled. It nwy confift, indeed, of parts j but thefe parts muft be
82 STfiUCTURE OP SENTENCES.
fo intimately knit together, as to make the impreffiori upon the mind of one object, not of many.
To preferve this unity, we muft firft obferve,that during the courfe of the fentence, the fcene fhould be changed as little as pofiible. There is generally, in even- fen- tence, fome perfon or thing which is the governing word. This fhould be continued fo, if pofiible, from the beginning to the end of it. Should a man exprefs himfelf in this manner : " After we came to anchor they " put me on fhore, where I was faluted by all my " friends, who received me with the greateft kindnefs." Here, though the objects are fufficiently connected, yet by this mode of reprefentation, by fhifting fo often the place and the perfon, ive, and they, and' 7, and ivbo, they appear in fuch a difunited view, that the fenfe and connection is nearly loft. The fentence is reftored to its proper unity, by conftru&ing it after the following man- ner : " Having come to an anchor, I was put on fhore, " where I was faluted by all my friends, who received " me with the gresteft kindaefs."
Another rule is, never to crowd into one fentence, things which have fo little connection, that they might bear to be divided into two or more fentences. The tranfgreffion of this rule never fails to hurt and difpleafe a reader, its effect, indeed, is fo difgufling, that, of the two, it is the fafeft extreme, to err, rather by too many fhort fentences, than by one that is overloaded
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 83
aud confuied. The following fentence, from a tranf- lation of Plutarch, will juiVify this opinion : " Their " march," fays the author, fpcaking of the Greeks under Alexander, " was through an uncultivated coun- " try, whole favage inhabitants fared hardly, having no " other riches than a breed of lean flieep, whofe flefh '•' was rank and unfavoury, by realbn of their continual " feeding upon fea-fim." Here the fcene is repeatedly changed. The march of the Greeks, the defcription of the inhabitants through whole country they paffed, the account of their flieep, and the reafon of their iheep being dilagreeable food, make a jumble of objects, I flightly related to each other, which the reader cannot, without confiderable difficulty, comprehend under one [view.
Another rule for preferving the unity of fentences is, Ito keep clear of all parenthefis in the middle of them. IThefe may, on fome occafions, have a fpirited appear- ance, as prompted by a certain vivacity of thought, Iwlrich can glance happily afide, as it is going along. jBut, in general, their effect is extremely bad ; being a irplexed metliod of dilpofing of fome thought, which writer has not art enough to introduce in its proper [place. It is needleis to produce any inftances, fince tiny occur fo frequently among incorrect writers.
We fliall add only one rule more for the unity of a jfentence j which is, to bring it always to a full and per- dole. It nt-ed hardly be obferved, that an un-
84 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
finifhed fentence is no fentence at all, with refj-ect to any of the rules of grammar. But fentences often oc- cur, which are more than finiihed. When we have arrived at what we expected to be the conclulion; when we are come to the word, on which the mind is natu- rally led to reft, by what went before; unexpeftedly fome circuntlftance arife«, which ought to have been left out, or to have been difpofed of after another manner. Thus, for inftance, in the following fentence, from Sir William Temple, the adjection to the fentence is entirely foreign to it. Speaking of Burnet's Theory of the Earth, and Fontenelle's Plurality of Worlds : " The " firuY' fays he, " could not end his learned treatife " without a panegyric of modern learning, in compari- " fon of the ancient ; and the other falls fo groflly into " the cenfure of the old poetry, and preference of the " new, that I could not read either of thefe ftrains " without fome indignation ; which no quality among " men is fo apt to raife in me as felf fufficiency." The word " indignation" ought to have concluded the fen- tence ; for what follows is altogether new, and is added after the proper clofe.
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
E proceed now to the third quality of a correct fentence, which we called Strength. By this is meant Inch a difpofition of the feveral words and members as fliall exhibit the fenfe to the beft advantage ; as {hall render the impreflion which the period is intended to make, moft full and complete ; and give every word and every member its due weight and importance. To the production of this effect, perfpicuity and unity are, no doubt, absolutely necefTary ; but they are not of themfelves fufficient. For a fentence may be obvioufly clear; it may alfo be fufficiently compact, or have the required unity ; and yet, by fome unfavourable circum- flance in the ftructure, it may be deficient in that ftrength or livelinefs of impreflion, which a more happy collocation would have produced.
The firft rule which we fliall give for promoting the ftrength of a fentence, is, to take from it all redundant words. Whatever can be eafily fupplied in the mind, is better omitted in the exprellion : Thus; " Content " with deferving a triumph, he refilled the honour of " it," is better than to fay, " Being content with de- " iln ing a triumph, he refufed the honour of it." It I
86 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
is certainly, therefore, one of the moft ufeful exerciies of corre&ion, on a view of what we have written or compofed, to contract that round-about mode of expref- fion, and to cut oft" thore ufeleis excrefcences which are ufually found in a firft draught. But we am ft be care- ful not to run into the oppolite extreme, of pruning fo clofely, as to give a hardnefs and drynefs to the ftyle. Some leaves muft be left to ilielter and adorn the fruit.
As fentences fhould be divefted of fuperfluous words, fo allb they fhould appear without fuperfluous members. In oppofition to this, is the fault we fo frequently meet with, of the laft member of a period being no other than the repetition of the former, in a different drefs. For example; fpeaking of beauty, " The very firft difcovery " of it, ' fays Mr. Addifon, " ftrikes the mind with " inward joy, and fpreads delight through all its facul- " ties." In this inftance, fcarcely any thing is added by the fecond member of the fentence to what was already cxprefled in the firft : And though the elegant ftyle of Mr. Addifon may palliate fuch negligence; yet it is ge- nerally true, that language, divefted of this prolixity, be- comes more ftrong, as well as more beautiful.
The fecond direction we (hall give for promoting the ftrength of a fentence is,- to pay a particular attention to the ufe of copulatives, relatives, and all the particles employed for tranfition and connection. Some obfer-
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 87
vations on this fubjeft, which appear to be worthy of particular remembrance, {hall here be noticed.
What is termed fplitting of particles, or feparating a prepofition from the noun which it governs, is ever to be avoided : As if we fhould fay, " Though virtue borrows " no affiftance from, yet it may often be accompanied " by, the advantages of fortune." In fuch inftances, a degree of dilTatisfacVion arifes, from the violent fepa- ration of two things, which, from their nature, ought to be intimately united.
The fimplicity of ftyle is much injured by the unne- ceflary multiplication of relative and demonftrative par- ticles : Thus if a writer fhould fay, " there is nothing " which difgufts me fooner than the empty pomp of " language ;" he would exprefs himfelf lefs fimply than if he had faid, " Nothing difgurts me fooner than the " empty pomp of language." The former mode of ex- preffion, in the introduction of a fubjecl:, or in laying down a propofition to which particular attention is de- manded, is exceedingly proper ; but", in the ordinary current of difcourfe, the latter is to be preferred.
With regard to the omiffion or infertion of the rela- tive, we {hall only obferve, that in converfation and epiftolary writing, it may be often omitted with pro- priety j but in compofitions pf a ferious or dignified kind, it mould conflantly be inferted.
I 2
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
On the copulative particle and, which occurs fo often in all kinds of composition, feveral obfervations are to be made. It is evident, that the unnecefiary repetition of it enfeebles ftyle. By omitting it entirely, we often mark a clofer connection, a quicker fucceffion of objecls, than when it is inferted between them. " Vent, vidi, " <v\ci-" — " I came, I faw, I conquered j" exprelTes with more fpirit the rapidity of conqueft, than if con- necting particles had been ufed. When, however, we defire to prevent a quick tranfhion from one object to another, and when we are enumerating objects which we wifh to appear as diftinft from each other as poffible, copulatives may be multiplied with peculiar advantage. Thus Lord Bolingbroke fays, with elegance and propri- ety, " Such a man might fall a victim to power; but " truth, and reafon, and liberty, would fall with " him."
A third rule for promoting the ftrength of a fehtence is, to dilpofe of the principal word, or words, in that place of the fentence where they will make the moft finking impreffion. Perfpicuity ought firft to be ftudi- ed j and the nature of our language allows no extenfive liberty in the choice of collocation. In general, the important words are placed at the beginning of the fen- tence. Thus Mr. Addifon : " The pleafures of the " imagination, taken in their full extent, are not fo " grofs as thofe of fenfe, nor fo refined as thofe of the " underflanding." This order feems to be the moft
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 89
plain and natural. Sometimes, however, when we propofc giving weight to a fentence, it is proper to 1'ufpend the meaning for awhile, and then to bring it out full at the dole : '* Thus," fays Mr. Pope, " on " whatever fide we contemplate Homer, what princi- " pally flukes us is his wonderful invention."
A fourth rule for the ftrength of fentences is, to make the members of them go on rHing in their impor- tance above one another. This kind of arrangement is called a climax, and is ever regarded as a beauty in com- pofition. Why it pleafes, is fufSciently evident. In all things, we naturally love to advance to what is more and more beautiful, rather than to follow the retrograde order. Having viewed fome confiderable object, we cannot, without pain, be pulled back to attend to an inferior circumftance. " Cavendum elt" lays Quinti- lian, " ne dccrefcat orath, ft fortiori fubjungatur aliquid " infirmms" " We mult take care that our compofition " iliall not fall off, and that a weaker exprcflion fhall " not follow one of greater ftrength." When a fen- tence confifts of two members, the longeft fhould in general, be the concluding one. Hence the pronunci- ation is rendered more eafy ; and the fhorteft member of the period being placed firft, we carry it more readily in our memory r.s we proceed to the fecond, and fee the connection of the two more clearly. Thus, to fay, " When our paflions have forlakcn u~, we flatter our- I 3
gO STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
" felves with the belief that \ve have forfakcn them," is both more graceful and more pcrfpicuous, than to begin with the longeft part of the propofition : " We flatter " ourfelves with the belief, that we have forfaken our '' paffions, when they have forfaken us."
A fifth rule for conftrucUng fentences with proper ftrength, is to avoid concluding them with an adverb, a prepofition, or any infignificant word. By fuch con- el uiions ftyle is always weakened and degraded. Some- times, indeed, where the ftrefs and fignificancy reft chiefly upon words of this kind, they may, with pro- priety, have the principal place allotted them. No fault, for example can be found with this fentence of Boling- broke : " In their profperity, my friends fliall never " hear of me ; in their adverlity, always j" where never and always, being emphatical words, are fo placed, as to make a ftrong impreflion. But when thofe inferior parts of fpeech are introduced as circumftances, or as qualifications of more important words, they fhould in- variably be difpofed of in the leaft confpicuous parts of
the period.
/
We lliould always avoid with care, the concluding with any of thofe particles which diftinguifh the cafes of nouns ; of, to, from, ivitb, by. Thus it is much better to fay, " Avarice is a crime of which wife men are " often guilty," than to fay, " Avarice is a crime which " wife men are often guilty of." This kind of phrafe- ology all correct writers endeavour feduloufly to avoid.
STRUCTURE OP SENTENCES. Ql
Verbs ufed in a compound fenfe, with forae of thefe prepofitions, are likexvife ungraceful conclufions of a period ; fuch as, bring about, lay bold of, come over to, clear up, and many others of the fame kind : initead of which, if a fimple verb can be employed, the fentence is always terminated with more ftrength. Even the pro- noun it, efpecially when joined with fome of the pre- pofitions, as, iuitb it, in it, to it, cannot, without a vio- lation of grace, be the conclusion of a fentence. Any phrafe which exprefTes a circumliance only, cannot conclude a fentence without great imperfection and inelegance. Circumftances are, indeed, like unmapely ftones in a building, which try the Ikill of an artift, where to place them with the leaft offence. We fhould carefully avoid crouding to many of them to- gether, but rather interfperfe them in different parts of the fentence, joined with the principal words on which they depend. Thus, for inftance, when Dean Swift fays, " What I had the honour of mentioning " to your Lordfhip, fometime ago, in converfation, " was not a new thought." — (Letter to the Earl of Oxford.) Thefe two circumftances, fometime ago, and in converfation, which are here joined, would have been better feparated thus : " What I had the honour, " fometime ago, of mentioning to your Lordfhip in " converfation."
The laft rule which we fliall mention concerning the ftrength of a fentence is, that in the members
92 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
of it, where two things are compared or contrafied to one another 5 where either a refemblance or an oppo- fition is defigned to be exprefled ; fome refemblance in the language and conftru<Stion ought to be obferved. The following paffage from Pope's preface to his Homer, beautifully exemplifies the rule we are now- giving. " Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the " better artift : in the one, we admire the man ; in " the other, the work. Homer hurries us with a com- " manding impetuofity ; Virgil leads us with an attrac- " tive majefty. Homer fcatters with a generous pro- " fufion j Virgil beftows with a carelefs magnifi- " cence. Homer, like the Nile, pours out his riches " with a fudden overflow ; Virgil, like a river in its " banks, with a conftant ftream. And when we look " upon their machines, Homer feems like his own " Jupiter in his terrors, fhaking Olympus, fcattering " the lightnings, and firing the heavens. Virgil, " like the fame power, in his benevolence, counfelling " with the Gods, laying plans for empires, and order- " ins: his whole creation." Periods of this kind when,
D
introduced with propriety, and not too frequently re- peated, have a fenfible and attractive beauty : but if fuch a eonftruclion be aimed at in all our fentences, it betrays into a difagreeable uniformity; and produces a regular jingle in the period, which tires the ear, and plainly difcovers affectation.
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. HARMONY.
HAVI
rING treated of fentences, with regard to their meaning, under the heads of Perfpicuity, Unity, and Strength} we will now confider them with refpeft to their found, their harmony, or agreeablenefs to the ear.
In the harmony of periods two things are to be con- fidered : Firft, agreeable found, or modulation in gene- ral, without any particular exprefiion : Next, the found fo ordered, as to become expreffive of the fenfe. The firft is the more common ; the fecond, the fuperior beauty.
The beauty of mufical conftruction, it is evident, will depend upon the choice of words, and the arrange- ment of them. Thofe words are moft pleafing to the ear, which are compofed of fmooth and liquid founds, where there is a proper intermixture of vowels and con- fonants, without too many harfh confonants rubbing againft each other, or too many open vowels in fuccef- fion, to produce a hiatus, or unpleafing aperture of the mouth. Long words are generally more pleafing to the ear* than monofyllables j and thole are the moft mu- fical, which are not wholly compoied of long or fliort
9'i STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
fyllables, but of an intermixture of them} fuch as> delight, amufe, 'velocity, celerity j beautiful, 'vnpeluojity. If the words, however, wliich compofe a fentence, be ever fo well chofen and harmonious, yet, if they be unskilfully arranged, its mulic is entirely loft. As an inftance of a mufical fentence, we may take the follow- ing from Milton, in his Treatife on Education. " We " lhall conduft you to a hill-fide, laborious, indeed, at " the firft afcent ; but elfe fo fmooth, fo green, fo full " of goodly profpefts and melodious founds on every " fide, that the harp of Orpheus was not more charm- " ing/' Every thing in this fentence confpires to ren- der it harmonious. The words are well chofen ; labo- rious, fmootb, green, goodly, melodious, charming ; and befides, they are fb happily arranged, that no alteration could be made, without injuring the melody.
There are two things on which the mufic of a fen- tence principally depends : thefe are, the proper diftri- bution of the feveral members of it, and the clofe or cadence of the whole.
Firft, we obferve, that the diftribution of the feveral members fhould be carefully attended to. Whatever is eafy and pleafing to the organs of i"; eech, always founds grateful to the ear. While a period is going on, the termination of each of its members forms a paufe in the pronunciation ; and thefe paufes mould be fo dif- tributed as to bear a certain rnuiical proportion to each other. This will be beft illuiti ated by examples. The
HARMOXY. Q5
following patfage is taken from Archbifliop Tillotfon. " This difcoune concerning the cafinefs of God's com- " mands does, all along, luppofe and acknowledge the " difficulties of the iirft entrance upon a religious " courfe ; except, only in thofe perfons who have had " the happineis to be trained up to religion by the eafy " and infennblc degrees of a pious and virtuous edu- " cation." This fen fence is far from being harmonious j owing chiefly to this, that there is, properly, no more than one paufe in it, falling between the two members into which it is divided ; each of which is fo long as to require a considerable ftretch of the breath in pro- nouncing it. Let us obferve now, on the contrary, the grace of the following paflage, from Sir William Tem- ple, in which he fpeaks farcaftically of man. tc But, " God be thanked, his pride is greater than his igno- " ranee ; and what he wants in knowledge, he fup- " plies by fufficiency. When he has looked about him, " as far as he can, he concludes there is no more to " be feen ; when he is at the end of his line, he is at " the bottom of the ocean ; when he has fliot his beft, •" he is fure none ever did, or ever can, moot better, " or beyond it. His own reafon he holds to be the " certain meafure of truth ; and his own knowledge " of what is poffible in nature." Here every thing is, at the fame time, eafy to the breath, and grateful to the ear. We muft, however, obferve, that if compofi- ticn abounds with fentences which have too many refls,
9(3 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
and thefe placed at intervals too apparently meafured and regular, it is apt to favour of affectation.
The next tiling which demands our attention is, the clofe or cadence of the whole fentence. The only im- portant rule which can here be given, is, that when we aim at dignity or elevation, the found fhould increafe to the lad ; the longeft members of the period, and the fulleft and moft fonorous words, fhould be employed in the conclufion. As an inftance of this, the following fentence of Mr. Addifon may be given. " It fills the " mind," fpeaking of fight, " with the largeft variety " of ideas ; couverfes with its obje&s at the greateft " diftance ; and continues the longeft in acVion without " being tired or fatiated with its proper enjoyments." Here every reader muft be fenfible of a beauty, both iu the juft divifion of the members and paufes, and the manner in which the fentence is rounded, and brought to a full and harmonious termination.
It may be remarked, that little words, in the conclu- fion of a fentence ; are as injurious to melody, as they are inconfiftent with ftrength of expreffion. A mufical clofe in our language feems, in general, to require either the laft fyllable, or the laft but one, to be along fyllable. "Words which confift chiefly of ihort fyllables, as con- trary, particular, retrofpeff, feldom terminate a fentence harmonioufly, unlefs a run of long fyllables, before, has rendered them pleafing to the ear.
HARMONY. 97
Sentences, however, which are Ib conftruded as to make the found always fwell and grow towards the end, and to reft either on a long or penult long fyllable, give a difcourfe the tone of declamation. If melody be not varied, the ear foon becomes acquainted and cloyed with it. Sentences conftrufted in the fame manner, with the paufes at equal intervals, mould never fucceed each other. Short fcntences muft be blended with long and fwelling ones, to render difcourfe fprightly, as well as magnificent.
We now proceed to treat of a higher fpecies of har- mony ; the found adapted to the fenfe. Of this we may remark two degrees : Firft, the current of found fuited to the tenor of a difcourfe : Next, a peculiar re- femblance effected between fome object and the founds that are employed in defcribing it.
Sounds have, in many refpects, an intimate corref- pondence with our ideas ; partly natural, partly pro- duced by artificial aflbciations. Hence, any one modu- lation of found continued, ftamps on our ilyle a certain character and expreflion. Sentences conftructed with the Ciceronian fuluefs and fwell, excite an idea of what is important, magnificent, and fedate. They fuit, how- ever, no violent paflion, no eager reafoning, no familiar addrefs. Thefe require meafures brisker, eafier, and more concife. It were as ridiculous to write a familiar epiftle and a funeral oration in a flyle of the fame ca- K
93 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
dence, as to fet the words of a tender love-fong to the tune of a warlike march.
Beildes that general correfpondence which the cur- rent of found has with the current of thought, a more particular expreflion may be attempted, of certain ob- jects, by refembling founds. In poetry this refemblance is chiefly to be looked for. It obtains fometimes, in- deed, in prole compofition ; but there in a more faint and inferior degree.
The founds of words may be employed to defcribe chiefly three clalTes of objects ; firft, other founds } fecondly, motion j and thirdly, the emotions and paf- fious of the mind.
In moft languages it will be found, that the names of many particular founds are fo formed as to bear fome refemblance to the found which they fignifyj as with us, the vjbiftling of winds, the buzz and bum of infects, the bifs of ferpents, and the crajb of falling timber ; and many other inftances, where the word has been plainly conltructed from the found it reprefents. A remark- able example of this beauty we fhall produce from Mil- ton, taken from two pafiages in his Paradife Loft, def- cribing the found made in the one, by the opening of the gates of hell ; in the other, by the opening of thofe of heaven. The contraft between the two, exhibits, to great advantage, the art of the poet. The firft is the opening of hell's gates :
HARMONY. 99
On a fudden, op<
\Vith impetuous recoil, and jarring found, , Th' infernal doors ! and on their hinges giatc Haifh thunder.
Obferve the fmootlmefs of the other :
Hf fl""" opened wide
Her ever»duiingg,Ufs, hatmonious found ! O-i golden lii;)^* turning. •
The fecond claf* of obje&s, which the found of word* is frequently employed to imitate, is motion ; as it is fwift or flow, violent or gentle, uniform or interrupted, eafy or accompanied with effort. Between found and motion there is no natural affinity; yet in the imagi- nation there is a ftrong one j as is evident from the con- nection between mufic and dancing. The poet can, confequcntly, give us a lively idea of the kind of motion he would defcribe, by the help of found, which corref- pond, in our imagination, with that motion. Long fyllables naturally excite the idea of flow motion ; as in this line of Virgil :
Olli inter fcfe magna vi brachia tollunt.
A fucceffion of fhort fyllables gives the imprefiion of quick motion : as,
Scd fugit interea, fugit irreparabile temptis.
The works of Homer and Virgil abound with in- ftances of this beauty ; which are fo often quoted, and ib well known, that it is unneceiTary to produce them. K2
10O STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
The third fet of objects, which we mentioned the found of words as capable of reprefenting, conlifts of the emotions and paffions of the mind. Between fenfe and found there appears, at firft view, to be no natural refemblance. But if the arrangement of fyllables, by the found alone, calls forth one fet of ideas more readily than another, and difpofes the mind for entering into that affection which the poet intends to raife, fuch arrangement may, with propriety, be faid to referable the fenfe, or be fimilar and correfpondent to it. Thus when pleafure, joy, and agreeable objects, are defcribed by one who fenfibly feels his fubject, the language na- turally runs into fmooth, liquid, and flowing numbers.
——__—— NTamque ipfa decoram
Caefariera nato geneti ix, lumenque juventae Purpurcum, et Ictos oculis afflarat honores. An. I.
Brifk and lively fenfations excite quicker and more animated numbers.
_— —— Juvennm rnanus emicat ardens Littus in Hefperium. JE-n- VII.
Melancholy and gloomy fubje&s are naturally con- nected with flow meafures and long words.
In thofe deep folitudes and awful cells, Where heavenly penfive contemplation dwells.
Abundant inflances of this kind will be fuggefted by a moderate acquaintance wilh the good poets, either ancient or modern.
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FIGURAT1Y! LANGUAGE.
E
I CURES may be defined to be that language which is fuggefted either by the imagination or by the paffions. They are commonly divided by rhetori- cians into two great clafles, figures of words, and figures of thought. The former are generally called tropes', and confifl in a word's being ufed to fignify fomething that is different from its original meaning. Hence, if the word be altered, the figure is dcftroyed : Thus, for inftance, " Light arifeth to the upright in " darknefs." Here the trope confilts in " light and " darknefs" not being taken literally, but intended to exprefs comfort and adverfity : to which conditions of life they are fuppofed to bear fome analogy or refem- blance. The other clafs, called figures of thought, fuppofes the figure to confift in the fentiment only, whilft the words are ufed in their literal fignification : as in exclamations, interrogations, apoftrophes, andcom- parifons ; where, though the words be varied, or tran- flated from one language into another, the fame figure, notwithftanding, is ftill preferved. This diftincliori, however, is of fmall importance, fince practice cannot K 3
102 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
be affifted by it ; nor is it in itfelf always fufficiently perfpicuous.
Tropes derive their origin, in fome degree, from the barrennefs of language, but more extenfively from the influence which the imagination poffeffes over every kind of fpeech. The imagination never contemplates any one idea, as fmgle and alone, but as accompanied by other ideas, which may be confidered as its accefla- ries. Thefe acceffaries often operate more forcibly upon the mind than the principal idea itfelf. They are, per- haps, in their nature more agreeable j or more familiar to our conceptions : or remind us of a greater variety of important circumftances. Hence the name of the acceftary or correfpondent idea is employed ; although the principal has a proper and well known name of its own. Thus, for example, when we defign to point out the period at which a ftate enjoyed moft reputation and glory, we might eafily employ the proper words for ex- preffing this; but as this, in our imagination, is readily connected with the flourifhing period of a plant or tree, we prefer this correfpondent idea, and fay, " The Ho- " man Empire flourished moft under Auguftus." The leader of a faction, is a plain expreflion ; but, becaufe the head is the principal part of the human figure, and is confidered as directing all the animal operations ; from this refemblaiice we figuratively fay, " Catiline " was the head of his party."
\Ve will now examine, why tropes or figures con-
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 103
tribute to the beauty and grace of ftyle. By them lan- guage is enriched, and becomes more copious. Hence words and phrafes are multiplied for expreffing every fpecies of ideas : for defcribing even the fmalleft differ- ences; the moft delicate (hades and colours of thought; which by proper words alone could not poflibly have been exprefied. They alfo give dignity to ftyle, which is degraded by the familiarity of vulgar expreffions. Figurative language has the fame connection with an elevated fubje£, that a rich and fplendid apparel has with a perfon of rank and dignity. In profe compe- titions, afiiftance of this kind is often requifite ; from poetry it is infeparable : To fay, " the fun rifes," is trite and common : but it becomes a magnificient image, when exprefled as Mr. Thomfon has done :
But yonder comes the powerful king of day Rejoicing in the eaft.— — —
Figures furnifli the pleafure of enjoying two objects prefented at the fame time, to our view, without con- fufion ; the principal idea, together with its acceflary, which gives it the figurative appearance. When, for example, inftead of " youth," we fay, " the morning of " life;" the fancy is inftantly entertained with all the eorrefponding circumftances which occur between thefe two objects. At the fame inftant, we behold a certain period of human life, and a certain time of the day, fo connected with each other, that the imagination plays between them with delight, and views at once two fimi- lar objects^ without embarraffment erconfufion.
104 ORIGIN AND NATURE OP
Befides, figures are attended with this additional ad- vantage j of affording a more clear and Unking view of the principal object, than could be had if it were ex- preffed in fimple terms, and freed from its acceffary idea. They communicate to the object on which they are employed, a picturefque appearance ; they can transform an abftraft conception, in feme degree, into an object of fenfej they furround it with circumftances, which enable the mind to lay hold of it fieadily, and to contemplate it fully. By a well adapted figure, even conviction is aflifted, and a truth is impreffed upon the mind with additional livelinefs and force. Thus, in the following paffage of Dr. Young : " When we dip too " deep in pleafure, we always ftir a fediment that ren- " ders it impure and noxious." When an image pre- fents fuch a refemblance between a moral and a fenfible idea, it ferves, like an argument from analogy, to en- force what the author advances, and to produce con- viction.
All tropes being founded on the relation which one object bears to another, the name of the one can be fub- ftituted for that of the other ; and by this, the vivacity of the idea is generally intended to be increafed. The relation between a caufe and its effect, is one of the firft and moft obvious. Hence the caufe is fometimes figu- ratively put for the effect. For inflance, Mr. Addifon, writing of Italy, fays,
Bloflbms, and fruits, and flowers, together rife,
And the whole year in gay confufion lies.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 105
Here the " whole year" is plainly meant to fignify the erlefts or produce of all the feafons of the year. The effect is allb often put for the caufe; as "grey " hairs" tor " old age," which produces grey hairs j and " fhade" for the " trees," which caufe the {hade. The relation which fubfilts between the container and the thing contained, is fo intimate and apparent, a» naturally to give rife to^tropes.
I lie impiger haufit
Spumamem pateram, ct plcr.o fe proluit auro.
Where it is obvious, that the cup and gold, are put for the liquor that was contained in the golden cup. The name of a country is alfo ufed to lignify its inha- bitants. To pray for the afiiftance of Heaven is the fame as to pray for the affiftance of God, who is thought to refide in Heaven. The relation between a fign and the thing fignified, is another fource of tropes. Thus :
Ccdant arma togae ; coucedat. laurea lingus.
Here the " toga," which is the badge of the civil pro- feflions, and the " laurel," that of military honours, are each of them put for the civil and military characters themfelves. Tropes, which are founded on thefe feve- ral relations of caufe and effect, container and con- tained, fign and thing fignified, are called by the name of metonomy.
When the trope is founded on the relation betwixt ai> antecedent and its confequcnt, it is called a metalepfis 3
106 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF, &C.
as when the Romans ufed to fay, " fuit," or " vixit'*
to fignify that one was dead. " Fuit Ilium et ingons
" gloria Teucrum," exprefles, that the glory of Troy is no more.
If the whole is put for a part, or a part for the whole 5 a genus for a fpecies, or a fpecies for a genus ; the fingular number for the plural, or the plural for the fingular ; in general, if any thing lefs, or any thing more, is fubftituted for the precife object meant, the figure is then termed a fynecdoche. We fay, for inftance, " A fleet of fo many fail," in the place of " fhipsj" we frequently ufe the " head" for the " perfon," the " pole" for the " earth^" the " waves" for the " fea." An at- tribute is often ufed for its fubjeft ; as " youth and " beauty," for the " young and beautiful •" and fome- times, & fubje£t for its attribute. But it is unnecefTary to infift longer on this enumeration. The Metaphor, which is founded on the relation of (imilitude and re- femblance, which is by far the moft fruitful of tropes, ftiall be confidered in the next chapter.
METAPHOR.
-
.
.ETAPHOR is fottmled entirely on the refem- blance which one objecl bears to another. It is, there- fore, nearly alhea To nfnile or comparifon ; and differs only from it in being expreifed in a {horter form. When we fay of a great minifter, " that he upholds " the ftate, like a pillar which fupports the weight of a " mafly edifice," we evidently make a comparifon ; but when we lay of fuch 'a man, that he is " the pillar " of the ftate," it becomes a metaphor.
Of all the figures of fpeech, none approaches fo near to painting as the metaphor. It gives light and tfrength to defcription ; makes intellectual ideas, in fome degree, vifible to the eye, by giving them colour, and fubftance, and fenfible qualities. To produce this effeft, how- ever, a delicate care is requifitej for, by a little inaccu- racy, we may introduce confufion, inftead of promoting perfpicuity. Several rules, therefore, muil be given for the proper management of metaphors.
The firft which we (hall mention is, that they be fuited to the nature of the fubjedt j neither too nume- rous, nor too gay, nor too elevated for it ; that we nei- ther endeavour to force the fubjeft, by the ufe of them,
108 METAPHOR.
into a degree of elevation which is not natural to it, nor, on the contrary, fuffer it to fall below its proper dig- nity. Some metaphors are beautiful in poetry, which would be abfurd and unnatural in profe; fome are graceful in orations, which would be highly improper in hiftorical or philofophical compositions. Figures are, indeed, the drefs of fentiment. They mould confe- quently, be adapted to the character of that ftyle which they are intended to adorn.
The fecond rule refpecls the choice "or objeds, from whence metaphors are to be drawn. The field for figurative language is very extenfive. All nature opens its ftores to us, and allows us to gather them without reftraint. But care muft be taken not to ufe fuch alla- fions as raife in the mind difagreeable, mean, low, or unclean ideas. To render a metaphor perfecl:, it mult not only be apt, but pleating; it muft entertain as well as enlighten. Mr. Dryden, therefore, can hardly el- cape the imputation of a very unpardonable breach of delicacy, when, in the dedication of his Juvenal, he ob- ferves to the Earl of Dorfet, that " fome bad poems " carry their owners' marks about them — fome brand " or other on this buttock, or that ear ; that it is noto- " rious who are the owners of the cattle." The moft pleafing metaphors are thofe which are derived from the more frequent occurrences of art or nature, or the civil tranfadions and cuftoms of mankind. Thus how ex- preflive, . yet at the fame time how familiar, is that
METAPHOR. 109
image which Otway has put into the mouth of Metellus, in his play of CaiuS Marius, where he calls Sulpicius
That mad wild bull, whom Maiius lets loofe
On each occafion, when he'd make Rome feel him,
To tofs our laws and liberties i" th' air !
In the third place, a metaphor mould be founded pa a refemblance which is clear and perfpicuous, and not on one which is far-fetched, or difficult to be difcovered. Harfli or forced metaphors are always difpleafing, be- , caufe they perplex the reader; and inftead of illuftrat- ing the thought, render it intricate and confufed. Thus, for inftance, Cowley, fpeaking of his miftrefs, exprellTes himfelf in the following forced and obfcure verfes.
Wo to her ftubborn heart, if once mine come
Into the felf-Ia:ne room, 'Twill tear and blow up all within, / Like a gianada, fhot into a magazine. Then (hall love keep the afhes anil torn parts
Of both our bioken hearts ; Shall out of both one new one make; From her'sth* alloy, from mine the metal take; For of her heart, he from the flames will find
But little left behind ; Mine only will remain entire; No drofs was there to perifli in the fire.
Metaphors borrowed from any of the fciences, efpe- cially fuch of them as belong to particular profeffions, are almoft continually faulty by their obfiurity. L
HO METAPHOR.
In the fourth place, we muft be careful never to jum- ble metaphorical and plain language together ; never to conftrucl: a period in fuch a manner, that part of it muft be underftood metaphorically, part literally ; which always introduces a moft difagreeable confufion. Though the works of Offian abound with beautiful and correct metaphors, yet they afford an inftance of the fault we are now cenfuring. " Trothal went forth with the " ftream of his people, but they met a rock ; for Fingal " flood unmoved ; broken they rolled back from his " fide : Nor did they roll in fafety ; the fpear of the " king purfued their flight." The metaphor, at the beginning, is exceedingly beautiful ; the " ftreairj," the " unmoved rock," the " waves rolling back broken," are expreffions perfectly agreeable to the proper and confiftent language of figure; but in the conclusion, when we are told, " they did not roll in fafety, becaufe " the fpear of the king purfued their flight," the literal meaning is injudicioufly mixed with' the metaphor; they are, at the fame moment, reprefented as waves that roll, and as men that may be purfued and wounded luitb 'a fpear.
In the fifth place, we muft take care not to make two different metaphors meet on the fame fubject. This, which is called mixed metaphor, is one of the grofleft abufes of this figure. Shakefpeare's exprefiion, for example, " to take arms againft a fea of troubles,'' makes a moft unnatural medley, and entirely confounds
METAPHOll. HI
(he imagination. More correct writers thnn Shakefpeare are Ibmetimes guilty of this error. Mr. Addiiou, in one of his numbers in the Spectator, fays, " There is " not a fingle view of human nature, which is not fuf- " ficient to extinguifli the feeds of pride." Here a vie-w is made to extingwjb, and to extinguijb feeds.
In examining the propriety «of metaphors, it fesms to be a good rule, to form a picture upon them, and con- fider how tlic parts would agree, and what kind of figure the whole would prefent, when delineated with a pencil.
Metaphors, in the fixth place, ihould not be crowded together on the fame object. Though each of them be diftinct, yet if they be heaped on one another, they produce confufion. The following paflage from Horace will exemplify this obfervation,
Motum ex Mctcllo confule civicum Bellique caufas, et vitiar et modus,
Ludumquc fortunac, gravefque
Principum amicitias, et arma Nondum cxpiatis unfta cruoribuj| Peiiculofae plenum opus alcac,
Traftas, ct inctdis per ignes
Suppofitos cineri dolofo. L. a. 1*
This paflage, though highly poetical, is rendered harlh and obfcure by three diftinct metaphors being crowded together: Firfr, " arma untta cruoribus nondum L2
112 METAPHOR.
next, " opus plenum pcriculofte alece j" and then, '•' incedis " fer ignes fuppojitos cinori dolofo."
The laft rule which we iliall fuggeft concerning me- taphors, is, that they fhould not be too far purfued. For when the refemblance, which is the foundation of the figure, is long dwelt upon, and carried into all its minute circumftancss, an -allegory is produced in flead of a metaphor; the reader is wearied, and the difcourfe becomes obfcure. This is termed draining a metaphor. Doctor Young, whofe imagination was more difiin- guiihed by ftrength than delicacy, is often guilty of running down his metaphors. Thus, fpeaking of old age, he fays it fhould
Walk thoughtful on the Client folemn fliore
Of that vaft ocean it mud fail fo Toon ;
And put good works on board ; and wait the wind
That thortly blows us into worlds unknown.
The two firft lines are extremely beautiful ; but when he continues the metaphor, by " putting good " works on board, and waiting the wind," it becomes ftrained, and finks in dignity.
Having treated thus fully of the metaphor, we iliali conclude this chapter with a few words concerning alle- gory.
An allegory is a continued metaphor ; it is the re- prefentation of one thing, by another which has a re- fcrablance to it. Thus Prior, in his Henry and Emmai
METAPHOR. 113
makes Emma, in the following allegorical manner, defcribe her conftancy to Henry :
Did I but purpofe to embark with thee On the fmooth furface of a fummei's fea, While gentle zephyrs play with profp'rous gales, And fortune's favour fills the fwelling fails ; But would forfake the fhip, and make the fliore, When the winds whiftle, and the tempefls roar ?
The fame rules that were given for metaphors/ may be alfo applied to allegories, on account of the affinity which fubfifts between them. The only material dif- ference, befide the one being fhort, and the other pro- longed, is, that a metaphor always explains itfelf by the words that are connected with it, in their proper and natural fignification : As when we fay, " Achilles was " a lion;" " an able minifter is the pillar of the ftate." The lion and the pillar are here fufficiently interpreted by the mention of Achilles and the minifter, which are joined to them ; but an allegory may be allowed to ftand left connected with the literal meaning ; the interpre- tation not being fo plainly pointed out, but left to our own refle&ion.
L3
HYPERBOLE— PERSONIFICATION- APOSTROPHE.
JLJlYPERBOLE confifts in magnifying an objeft be- yond its natural bounds. This figure occurs very fre- quently in all languages, and makes a part even of common converfation : As fwift as the wind ; as white as the fnow ; and the like ; and our ufual forms of compliment are, in general, only extravagant hyperboles. Thefe exaggerated expreffions, however, from habit, are feldom confidered as hyperbolical.
Hyperboles are of two kinds ; either fuch as are employed in defcription, or fuch as are fuggefted by the ardour of paffion. Thofe are the beft which are the effect: of paflion ; fince it not only gives rife to the moft daring figures, but often, at the fame time, renders them natural and juft. Hence the following paflage in Milton, though extremely hyperbolical, contains nothing but what is natural and proper. It exhibits the mind of Satan agitated with rage and defpair.
Me miferablc ! which way fhall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite defpair ? Which way I fly is Hell; myfelf am Hell ; And in the loweft depth, a lower deep Siill threatening to devour me, opens wide, To which the Hell I fuller feems a Heaven.
HYPERBOLE. 115
In fimple defcription hyperboles muft be employed with greater caution. When an earthquake or a florm is defcribed, or when our imagination is carried into the midft of a battle, we can bear flrong hyperboles without difpleafure. But when only a woman in grief is pre- fented to our view, it is impoflible not to be dilgufted with fuch wild exaggeration as the following in one of our dramatic poets :
_ — — I found her on the floor,
In all the ftorm of grief, yet beautiful;
Pouring forth tears at fuch a lavifh rate,
That, were the world on fire, they might have drown'd
The wrath of Heaven, and quench'd the mighty ruin.
This is the genuine bpmbaft. The perfon herfelf who laboured under the diftra&ing agitations of grief, might be permitted to exprefs herfelf in ftrong hyper- bole j but the fpeftator, who only fpeaks the language of defcription, cannot be permitted an equal liberty. The juft boundary of this figure cannot be afcertained by any precife rule. Good fenfe and an accurate tafte muft afcertain the limit, beyond which, if it pafs, it be- comes extravagant.
PERSONIFICATION.
proceed now to the examination of thofe figures which lie altogether in the thought ; where the words are taken in their common and literal fenfe. "We fhall begin with perfonification, by which life and ac- tion are attributed to inanimate objects. All poetry, even in its moft gentle and humble forrns, is much in- debted to this figure. From profe it is by no means excluded ; nay, even in common converfation frequent approaches are made to it. When we fay, the earth tbirfts for rain, or the fields fmile with plenty j \vhen ambition is faid to be reftlefs, or a difeafe to be deceitful, fuch expreffions fhew the facility with which the mind can accommodate the properties of living creatures to things that are inanimate,, or to abftraft conceptions.
There are three different degrees of this figure j which it is requifite to remark and diftinguifli, in order to determine the propriety of its ufe. The firft is, when fome of the properties or qualities of living crea- tures are afcribed to inanimate objects ; the fecond,\vhen thofe inanimate objefts are defcribed as afting like fuch as have life j and the third, when they are exhibited cither as fpeaking to us, or as liftening to what we fay to them.
PERSONIFICATION. 117
The iirft and loweft degree of this figure, which con- lifts in communicating to inanimate objects fome of the qualities of living creatures, raifes the ftyle fo little, that the humbled difcourfe will admit it without any force. Thus, " a raging ftonn, a deceitful difeafe, a " cruel difafler," are familiar and fimple expreffions. This, indeed, is luch an obfcure degree of perfonifica- tion, as might not, perhaps, be improperly claffed with plain metephors, which almoft efcape our obfervation.
The fecond degree of this figure is, when we repre- fent inanimate objects a&ing like thofe that have life. Here we advance a ftep higher, and the perfonification becomes fenfible. According to the nature of the ac- tion which we afcribe to thofe inanimate obje&s, and the particularity with which we defcribe it, fuch is the ftrength.of the figure. When purfued. to a confiderable length, it belongs only to laboured harangues ; when flightly touched, it may be admitted into lefs elevated competitions. Cicero, for example, fpeaking of the cafes where killing a man is lawful in felf-defence, ufes the following expreffions : " ATiquando nobis gladius ad " occidcndum bom'mem ab ipfis forrigitur legibus." Here the laws are beautifully perfonified, as ftretching fortli their hand to give us a fword for putting a man to- death.
In poetry, perfonifications of this kind are extremely frequent, and, indeed, conftitute its eflence. In the defcriptions of a poet who has a lively fancy, every
118 PERSONIFICATION.
thing becomes animated. Homer, the father of pet try, is remarkable for the ufe of this figure. War, peace, darts, rivers, every thing, in fliort, is alive in his writ- ings. Milton and Shakefpeare referable him in this particular. No perionification is more ftriking, or in- troduced on a more proper occalion, than the following of Milton, upon Eve's eating the forbidden fruit :
So faying, her rafh hand, in evil hour, Forth reaching to the fruit, flie pluck'd, fhe eat; Earth felt the wound, and nature, from hcrjcat Sighing, thro' all her woiks gave figns of woe,
That all was loft.
B. ix. 1. 780.
The third and higheft degree of this figure, is yet to be mentioned} when inanimate objects are reprefented not only as feeling and a&ing, but as fpeaking to us, or hearing and attending when we addrefs ourfelves to them. This is the boldeft of all rhetorical figures ; it is the ftyle of ftrong paflion only; and, confequently, fhould never be attempted, except when the mind is very much heated and agitated. Milton affords us a very beautiful example of this figure, in that moving and tender addrefs which Eve makes to Paradife imme- diately before me is compelled to leave it :
Oh ! unexppfted ftroke, worfe than of death. Muft I thus leave thee, Paradife ! thus leave Thee, native foil, thcfe happy walks and fhades, Fit haunt of Gods \ where I had hopes to fpend Quiet, though fad, the icfpite of that day
PERSONIFICATION. 11Q
Which muft be mortal to us both. O flowers ! That never will in other climate grow, My early vifiution, and my lalt At ev'n, which I bred up with tender hand, From your firft op'ning buds, and gave you names! Who now (hall rear you, to the fun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrofial fount!
B. ii. 1. 268.
This is the real language of nature, and of female pa (lion.
In the management of this fort of per fonifi cation two rules are to be obferved. Firft, never to attempt it un- lefs prompted by ilrong pafiion, and never to continue it when the pafiion begins to fuWkle. The fecond rule is, never to perfonify an obje6l which has not fome dig- nity in itfelf, and which is incapable of making a proper figure in the elevation to which we raife it. To addrefs the body of a deceafed friend, is natural ; but to ad- drefs the cloaths which he wore, introduces low and degrading ideas. So likewife, addreffing the feveral parts of one's body, as if they were animated, is not agreeable to the dignity of paffion. For this reafon, the following paffage in Mr. Pope's Eloifa to Abelard is lia- ble to ccnfure :
Dear fatal name ! reft ever unreveal'd Nor pafs thefe lips in holy filence feal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that clofe diguife, Where, mix'd with Gods, his lov'd idea lies; O ! write it not, my hand ! — his name appears Already written— blot it out, my tears !
120 PERSONIFICATION.
»
Here the name of Abelard is firft perfonified ; which as the name of a perfon often Hands for the perfon him- felf, is expofed to no objection : Next, Eloifa perfoni- fies her own heart ; and as the heart is a dignified part of the human frame, and is often put for the mind or affections, this alfo may pafs without ceniure. But \vhen fhe addreffes her hand, and tells it not to write his name, this is ftrained and unnatural. Yet the figure becomes ftill worfe, when fhe exhorts her tears to blot out what her hand had written. The two laft lines are, indeed, altogether unfuitable to the native paflion and tendernefs which breathe through the reft of that inimitable poem.
APOSTROPHE.
.POSTROPHE is an addrefs to a real perlbn ; but one who is either abfent or dead, as if he were prefent, and attentive to us. This figure is, in boldnefs, a de- gree lower than the addrefs to perfonified obje&s ; fince it requires a lefs effort of imagination to fuppofe perfons prefent who are dead or abfent, than to animate infcn- lible beings, and direft our difcourfe to them. The poems of Offian abound with the moft beautiful inftan- ces of this figure. " Weep on the rocks of roaring " winds, O Maid of Iniftore ! Bend thy fair head over " the waves, thou fairer than the ghoft of the hills, when " it moves in a fun -beam at noon over the filence of " Morven ! He is fallen ! Tliy youth is low ; pale be- " neath the fword of Cuchullin !"
M
COMPARISON, ANTITHESIS, INTEROGATION,
EXCLAMATION, AND OTHER FIGURES
OF SPEECH.
A
Competition or fimile is, when the refemblance between two obje&s is expreiled in form, and ufually purfued more fully than the nature of a metaphor ad- mits : As when we fay, " The actions of princes are " like thofe great rivers, the courle of which every one " beholds, but their fprings have been feen by few." This ihort inftance will lliew, that a fortunate eompari- fbn is a fort of fparkling ornament, which adds luilre and beauty to language.
All comparifons may be reduced under two heads ; txplaining and embeUiJbing comparifons. For when a writer compares the object of which he treats with any other thing, it always is, or at leaft ought to be, with a view either to make us underfland that object more clearly, or to render it more pleating and engaging. Even the moft abftracl: reafoning admits of explaining companions. For iuftance, the diftin&ion between the powers of fenfe and imagination in the human mind, are, in Mr. Harris's Hermes, illuftrared by a fimile, in the following manner : " As wax," fays he, " would
COMPARISON. 123
" not be adequate to the purpofe of Signature, if it had " not the power to retain as well as to receive the " impreffion ; the fame holds of the foul with refjv " to fenfe and imagination. Senfe is its receptive " power, and imagination its retentive. Had it fenfe " without imagination, it would not be as wax, but as " water ; where, though all impreflions be inftantly " made, yet as foon as they are made, they are inftantly " loft." In comparifons of this kind, perfpicuity and ufefulnefa are chiefly to be ftudied.
But enabelliftiing comparifons, which are introduced to adorn the fubjeft of which we treat, are thofe which moft frequently occur. Refemblance, it has been ob- ferved, is the foundation of this figure. Yet refem- blance muft not be taken in too ftrict a fenfe, for ac- tual fimilitude or likenefs of appearance. Two obje&s may raife a train of fimilar or concordant ideas in the mind, though they referable each other, ftri&ly fpeak- ing, in nothing. For example, to defcribe the nature of foft and melancholy mufic, Offian fays, " The mufic " of Carryl was, like the memory of joys that are part, " pleafant and mournful to the foul." This is juft and beautiful ; yet no kind of mufic bears any refemblance to a feeling of the mind, fuch as the memory of pad joys.
We will now confider when comparifons may be in- troduced with propriety. Since they are the language M 2
1'24 COMPARISON.
of imagination rather than of pafiion, an author carv hardly commit a greater fault, than in the niidft of paffion to introduce a fimile. Our writers of tragedies are often culpable in this refpeft. Thus Mr. Addifon, in his Cato, makes Portius, juft after Lucia had bid him farewell for ever, exprefs- himfelf in a itudied and attected comparifon.
Thus, o'er the dying lamp th' unfteady flame Hangs quiv'riug on a point, leaps off by fits, And falls again, as loth to quit its hold. Thou muft not go ; my foul {till hovers o'er thee, And can't get loofc.
Tliough comparifon be not the ftyle of flrong paffion, ib neither, uhen defigned as an embellilhment, is it the language of a mind totally unmoved. Being a figure of dignity, it always demands foroe elevation in the fubject, to make it proper. It fuppofes the imagination to be uncommonly enlivened, though the heart be not agitated by paflion. The language of fimile feems to lie between the highly pathetic and the very hum- ble ftyle, at the fame diftance from each. It is, how- ever, a fparkling ornament 5 and muft confequeutly dazzle and fatigue, if it fliould recur too often. Similies fliould,. even in poetry, be employed with mo- deration ; but in profe much more j otherwile the ftyle will grow difguftiugly luicious, and the ornament lofe its beauty and errecl.
We will now con fide r the nature of thofe objects from
COMPARISON. 125
which companions ihould be drawn ; fuppofing them introduced in their proper order.
In the firft place they muft not be drawn from things which have too intimate and obvious a reiemblance to the objed with which they are compared. The plea- fure which we receive from the aft of comparing, arifes from the difcovery of likencfles among) things of dif- ' ferent fpecies, where we ihould not, at fir It fight ex- pe6t a reiemblance.
But, in the fecond place, as companions ought not to be founded on likenetTes too apparent, much lefs ought they to be founded on thofe which are too faint and diftant. Thefe, inftead of aflifiing, ftrain the fancy to comprehend them, and throw no light upon the fubjeft.
In the third place, the object from which a comparifon is drawn ought never to be an unknown obje6t, or one of which few people can have a clear idea. Similes therefore, founded on philofophical difco\ tries, or ou any thing with which perfons of a particular trade only, or a particular profeffion, are acquainted, pro- duce not their proper effeft. The Ihould be drawn from thofe illuftrious and noted objects, which the generality of readers have either feen, or can ftrongly conceive.
In the fourth place, we muft obferve, that in com- M 3
126 COMPARISON.
petitions of a grave or elevated kind, fimiles fhould ne- ver be drawn from low or mean objects. Thefe have a tendency to degrade and vilify ; whereas limilies are generally intended toembellim and to dignify; and, there- fore, except inburlefque writings, or where an object is meant to be diminifhed, mean ideas fhould never be fubmitted to our obfervation.
ANTITHESIS:
A;
.NTTTHESIS is founded on the contrail or oppb- fition of two objeds. By con t raft, objefts oppofed to each other appear in a ftronger light. Beauty, for in- fiance, never appears fo charming as when contrafted with uglinefs and deformity. Antithefis, therefore, may, on many occafions, be ufed advantageoufly, to ftrengthen the impreflion which we propofe that ,any objeft mould make. Thus Cicero, in his defence of Milo, representing the improbability of Milo's attempt- ing to take away the life of Clodius, when every thing was unfavourable to fuch a defign, after he had omitted many opportunities of effecting fuch a purpofe, heightens our convidion of this improbability, by a judicious ufe of this figure : " Quern igitur cum omnium gratia inter- " Jlcere noluit, bunc : l.nt cum aliquorum qucrela ? Quern " jure, quern loco, quern temfore, quern impune, non eft " art/us, bunc injuria, iniquo loco, alieno tempore, periculo " capitis, non dubitavit occ'idere ?n Here the antithefis is rendered complete, by the words and members of the fentence, exprefling the contrafted objects, being fimi- tarly conftrucled, and made to correfpond with each other.
We muft, however, acknowledge, that the frequent ufe of antithefis, paticularly where the oppofition in the
123 ANTITHESIS.
words is nice and quaint, is apt to make ftyle unpleaf- ing. A maxim or moral faying, very properly receives this form ; both becaufe it is fuppofed to be the effect of meditation, and is defigned to be engraven on the memory, which recalls it more eafily by the aid of fuch contraffed exprefiions. But where a number of fuch fentences fucceed each other ; where this is an author's favourite and prevailing mode of exprefiion, his ftyle is expofed to cenfure.
INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION.
NTERROGATIONS and Exclamations are paflio- nate figures. The literal ufe of interrogation is to alk a queftion ; but when men are prompted by pafiion, whatever they would affirm or deny with great earneft- nefs, they naturally put in the form of a queftion j ex- preffing thereby the firmeft confidence of the truth of their own opinion ; and appealing to their hearers for the impoffibility of the contrary. Thus, in fcripture : " God is not a man, that he fhould lie ; neither the " fon of man, that he ihould repent. Hath he faid it ? " And (hall he not clo it ? Hath he fpoken it ? And " fhall he not make it good ?"
Interrogations may be employed in the profecution of fome clofe and earneft reafoning"; but exclamations belong only to ftronger emotions of the mind ; to fur- prife, anger, joy, grief, and the like. Thefe being na- tural figns of a moved and agitated mind, always, when they are properly employed, make us fympathife with, thofc who ufe them, and enter into their feelings. Nothing, however, has a worfe effe6t than the frequent and unfeafonable ufe of exclamations. Young, unex- perienced writers fuppofe, that by pouring them fartlv
13O INTERROGATION, &C.
plenteoufly, they render their competitions warm and animated. But quite the contrary is the caie. They render them frigid to excefs. When an author is al- ways calling upon us to enter into tranfports which he has faid nothing to infpire, he excites our dilguft and indignation.
VISION.
.NOTHER figure of fpeech, fit only for animated competition, is what fome writers call Vifion ; when, inftead of relating fomething that is paft, we ufe the p relent tenie, and defcribe it as if paffing immediately •before our eyes. Thus Cicero, in his fourth oration againll Catiline : " Videor enim mibi ba?ic urbem^viderc, " lucetn orbis terrarum atque arcem omnium gentium, " Jubito uno. incendio concidentem cerno animo fepulta in " f atria miferos atque infepultos acervos civium ; verfatur " mibi ante oculos afpettus Cetbegi, et furor, in <vejlrci " c<ede baccbantis" This figure has great beauty when it is well executed, and when it flows from the true fpirit of genuine enthufiafm. If it be fuggefted by affeftion, it {hares the fame fate with all feeble attempts towards paffionate figures ; that of throwing ridicule upon the author, and leaving the reader more cool and uninterefted than he was before.
CLIMAX.
T
A HE Lift figure which we fiia.ll mention, and which is of frequent ufe among all public fpeakcrs, is called a Climax. It confifts in an artful exaggeration of all the circuinftances of fome object or action which we with to place in a itrong light. It operates by a gra- dual rife of one circumftance f.bove another, till our idea be raited to the highefl pitch. "VYe fliall give an inftance of this figure, from a printed pleading of a cele- brated Scotch Lawyer, Sir George Mackenzie. It is in a charge to the jury, in the cafe of a woman who was accufed of murdering her own child. " Gentlemen, if " one man had any how flain another 5 if an adverfary " had killed his oppofer ; or a woman occafioned the " death of her enemy 5 even thefe criminals would " have been capitally puniftied by the Cornelian law : " But, if this guiltlefs infant, who could -make no " enemy, had been murdered by its own nurfe, what " punifbments would riot then the mother have de- " manded ? With what cries and exclamations would " fiie have flunned your ears ? What fhall we fay " then, when a woman, guilty of homicide, a mother, " of the murder of her innocent child, hath coraprifed " all thofe mifdeeds in one fingle crime ; a crime, in
CLIMAX. 133
*f its own nature, deteftable ; in a woman, prodigious; " in a mother, incredible ; and perpetrated againft one " whofe age called for companion, whofe near relation " claimed affection, and whofe innocence deferved the " higheft favour?" Such regular climaxes as thefe, though they have great beauty, yet, at the fame time, have the appearance of art and ftudy ; and, confe- quently, though they may be admitted into formal harangues, yet they are not the language of paflion, which feldom proceeds by fuch .regular and meafured fteps.
N
GENERAL CHARACTERS OP STYLE.
DIFFUSE, CONCISE, FEEBLE, NERVOUS, DRY,
PLAIN, NEAT, ELEGANT, FLOWERY.
T
A HAT different fubje&s ought to be treated in different kinds of ftyle, is a politico fo felf-evident, that it requires not illuftration. Every one is con- vinced, that treatifes of philofophy fliould not be com- pofed in the fame ftyle with orations. It is equally ap- parent, that different parts of the fame compofition require a variation in the ftyle and manner. Yet amidft this variety, we ftill expecl: to find, in the compofition of any one man, fome degree of uniformity or confif- tency with himfelf, in manner ; we expect to find fome prevailing character of ftyle impreffed on all his writ- ings, which lhall be fuited to, and ihall diftinguilh, his particular genius and turn of mind. The orations in Livy differ confiderably in ftyle, as they ought to do, from the reft of his hiftory. The fame thing may be obferved in thofe of Tacitus. Yet in the orations of both thefe elegant hiftorians, the diftinguifhing manner of each may be clearly traced ; the fplendid fulnefs of the one, and the fententious brevity of the other. Wherever there is real and native genius, it prompts a difpofition to one kind of ftyle rather than to another. Where this is wanting ; where there is no marked nor
DIFFUSE AND CONCISE. 135
peculiar character which appears in the compofitions of an author, \ve are apt to conclude, and not without caufe, that he is a vulgar and trivial author, who writes from imitation, and not from the impulfe of original genius.
One of the firfl and mod obvious diftin&ions of the different forts of ityle, arifes from an author's expand- ing his thoughts more or lefs. The diftin&ion conili- tutes what are termed the diffufe and concife ftyles. A concife writer coniprefles his ideas into the feweft •words ; he employs none but the mod expreilive ; he lops off all thofe which are not a material addition to the fenfe. Whatever ornament he admits, is adopted for the fake of force, rather than of grace, The fame thought is never repeated. The utmoft precilion is ftudied in his leniences ; and they are generally de- ligned to fugged more to the reader's imagination than they immediately exprefs.
A diffufe writer unfolds his idea fully. He holds it out in a variety of lights, and aflifts the reader, as much as poflible, in comprehending it completely. He is not very anxious to exprefs it at firft in its full ftrength, becaufe he intends repeating the impreffion ; and what he wants in ftrength, he endeavours to fupply by copi- oufnefs. His periods naturally flow into fome length ; and having room for ornament of every kind, he gives it free admittance.
N2
136 DIFFUSE AXD CONCISE.
Each of thefe ftyles has its peculiar advantages; and each becomes faulty when carried to the extreme. Of concifenefs carried as far as propriety will allow, per- haps in feme cafes farther, Tacitus the hiftorian, and Montefquieu, in " TEfprit de Loix," are remarkable examples. Of a beautiful and magnificent diffufenefs, Cicero is, undoubtedly, the ncbleft inftance which can be given. Addifon alfo, and Sir William Temple, may be ranked in fome degree under the fame clafs.
To determine when to adopt the concife, and when the diflfufe manner, we muft be guided by the nature of the compofition. Difcourfes which are to be fpoken, require a more diffufe ftyle than books which are to be read. In written compofitions, a proper degree of con- cifenefs has great, advantages. It is more lively ; keeps up attention ; makes a ftronger imprefiion on the mind ; and gratifies the reader by fupplying more exercife to his conception. Defcription, when we wifli to have it vivid and animated, fhould be in a concife ftrain. Any redundant words or circumftances encumber the fancy, and render the object we prefent to it confufed and in- diftinft. The ftrength and vivacity of defcription, whe- ther in prpfe or poetry, depend much more upon the happy choice of one or two important circumftances, than upon the multiplication of them. When we defire to ftrike the fancy, or to move the heart, we fliould be concife; when to inform the understanding, which is more deliberate in its motions, and wants the afiiftancc
NERVOUS AND FEEBLE. 13/
of a guide, it is better to be full. Hiftorical narration ma}' be beautiful, either in a concife or difTufe manner, according to the author's genius. Livy and Herodotus are diffufe ; Thucydides and Salluft are coucife ; yet they are all agreeable.
The nervous and the feeble are generally confidered as characters of ftyle, of the fame import with the concife and the diftufe. They do, indeed, very fre- quently coincide 5 yet this does not always hold ; fince there are inftances of writers, who, in the midft of a full and ample ftyle, have maintained- a confider- able degree of ftrength. Livy is an inftance of the truth of this obfervation. The foundation, indeed, of a nervous or weak ftyle, is laid in an author's manner of thinking : If he conceives an . object forcibly, he will expreis it \\ith ftrength ; but if lie has an indiltin6t view of his fubjeCl, this will clearly appear in his ftyle. Unmeaning words and loofe epithets will eicape him j his exprellions will be vague and general ; his arrange- ment indi!tin6t and weak j and our conception of his meaning will be faint and confufed. But a nervous writer, be his ftyle concife or extended, gives us always a ftrong idea of his meaning ; his mind being full of his fubjed, his words are, confequently, all exprcflive ; every phrafe and every figure which he ufes, renders the pifture which he would fet before us, more ftrik- ing and compleat.
N3
138 NERVOUS AND FEEBLE.
It muft, however, be obferved, that two great a ftudy of ftrength, to the negledl of the other qualities of ftyle, is apt to betray writers into a harfli manner. Harfh- nefs proceeds from uncommon words, from forced in- verfions in the conftruction of a fentence, and too great a neglect of fmoothnefs and eafe. This is imputed as- a fault to fome of our earlieft daffies in the Engliih language ; fuch as Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Ba- con, Hooker, Harrington, Cudworth, and other writers of conliderable reputation in the days of Queen Eliza- beth, James I. and Charles I. Thefe writers had nerves and ftrengrh in a conliderable degree ; and are to this day diftinguifhed by that quality in ftyle. But the language, in their hands, was very different from what it is at prefent, and was, indeed, entirely formed upon the idiom and conftruftion of the Latin, in the arrange- ment of fentences. The prefent form which the lan- guage has aflumed, has, in fome degree, facrificed the ftudy of ftrength to that of eafe and perfpicuitv. Our arrangement has become lefs forcible, perhaps, but more plain and natural ; and this is now confidered as the genius of our tongue.
Hitherto ftyle has been confidered under thofe cha- racters which regard its exprellivenefs of an author's meaning : We will now confider it in another view,, with refpeft to the degree of ornament employed to embellim it. Here the ftyle of different authors feems to rife in the following gradation : A dry, a plain, a
DRY — PLAIN — NEAT. 13Q
neat, an elegant, a flowery, manner. Of thefe we will treat briefly, in the order in which they ftand.
A dry manner excludes every kind of ornament. Satisfied with being underftood, it aims not to pleafe, in the leaft degree, either the fancy or the ear. This is tolerable only in pure didactic writing j and even there to make us bear it, great folidity of matter is neceflary, and entire perfpicuiry of language.
A plain ftyle advances one degree above a dry one. A writer of this character employs very little ornament of any kind, and refts almotl entirely upon his fenfe. But, though he does not engage us by the arts of com- pofition, he avoids difgufting us like a dry and a harfli writer. Befides perfpicuity, he obferves propriety, pu- rity, and precifion in his language j which form no in- confiderable degree of beauty. Liveliness and force are alfo compatible with a plain ftyle ; and confequeutly, fuch an author, if his fentiments be good, may be fuf- ficiently agreeable. The difference between a dry and a plain writer is, that the former is incapable of orna- ment ; the latter goes not in purfuit of it. Of thofe who have employed the plain ftyle, Dean Swift is an eminent example.
A neat ftyle is next in order ; and here we are ad- vanced into the region of ornament j but that ornament is not of the moft fparkling kind. A writer of this character (hews that he does not defpife the beauty of.
140 ELEGAXT.
language, by his attention to the choice of his words, and to their graceful collocation. His fentences are always free from the incumbrance of fuperfluous words; are of a moderate length ; rather inclining to brevity than a fvvelling ltru£turc ; and clofing with propriety. There is variety in his cadence ; but no appearance of ftudied harmony. His figures, if any, are fliort and accurate, rather than bold and glowing. Such a ftyle may be attained by a writer whofe powers of fancy or genius are not extenfive, by induftry and attention. This fort of flyle is not unfuitable to any fubject what- ever. A familiar epiftle, or a law paper, on the drieft fubjecl: may be compofed with neatnefsj and a fermon, or a philoibphicai treatifc, in a neat ftyle, will be read •with fatisfadtion.
An elegant ftyle admits a higher degree of ornament than a neat one ; and poffefles all the virtues of orna- ment, without any of its exceffes or defects. Com- plete elegance implies great perfpicuity and propriety ; purity in the choice of words ; and carefulnefs and ikill in their harmonious and happy arrangement. It implies farther, the beauty of imagination fpread over ftyle, as far as the fubjcft allows it ; and all the illuftra- tion which figurative language affords when properly employed. An elegant writer, in fliort, is one 'who de- lights the fancy and the ear, while he informs the un- derftanding 5 and who clothes his ideas with all the beauty of expreffion, but does net overload them with any of its mifplaced finery.
FLOWERY. 141
A florid Ityle comprehends the excefs of ornament. This, in a young compofer, is not only pardonable, but is often a fymptom of a bold and inventive genius. But, although it may be allowed to youth, in their firft attempts, it muft not receive the fame indulgence from writers of more experience, In them, judgment fliould chaften imagination, and rejeft every ornament which is unfuitable or redundant. That tinfel fplendour of language, which fome writers perpetually affeft, is truly contemptible. With thefe it is a luxuriancy of words, not of fancy. They forget that, unlefs it be founded on fenfe and folid thought, the moft florid ftyle, is but a childifli impofition on ignorant and unthinking readers.
STYLE— SIMPLE j AFFECTED ;. VEHEMENT-
DIRECTIONS FOR FORMIXO A PROPER
STYLE.
JMPLICITY, applied to writing, is a term very commonly ufed ; but, like many other critical terms, it is often ufed vaguely, and without precifion. The different meanings given to the word Simplicity, have been the chief caufe of this inaccuracy. It will not, therefore, be improper to make a diflinction between them ; and fliew in what fenfe fimplicity is a proper attribute of ftyle. There are four different acceptations in which this term is taken.
The firft is fimplicity of composition, which is op- pofed to too great a variety of parts. This is the fim- plicity of plan in a tragedy, as diftinguimed from dou- ble plots and crowded incidents ; the fimplicity of the Iliad, in oppofition to the digreffions of Lucan j the fimplicity of Grecian architecture, in oppofition to the irregularity of the Gothic. Simplicity, in this fenfe, is the fame as unity.
The fecond fenfe, is fimplicity of thought, in oppo- fition to refinement. Simple thoughts are thofe which
SIMPLICITY. 143
flow naturally ; which are eafily fuggefted by the fub- ject or occafion ; and which, when once fuggefted, are univerfally underftood. Refinement in writing, means a lefs obvious and natural turn of thought, which, when carried too far, approaches to intricacy, and is unpleafing, by the appearance of being far fought. 1'h us we fhould fay, that Mr. Parnell is a Poet of much greater fimplicity, in his turn of thought, than Mr. Cowley.
A third fenfe of fimplicity, is that in which it regards ftyle ; is oppoicd to too much ornament,, or pomp of language. Thus we fay, Mr. Locke is a fimple, Mr. licrvey a florid writer.
There is a fourth fenfe of fimplicity, which alfo refpe6ls ftyle : but it regards not fo much the degree of ornament employed, as the eafy and natural manner in which language is expreffive of our thoughts. In this fenfe, fimplicity is compatible with the higheft ornament. Homer, for example, has this fimplicity in the greateft perfection ; and yet no writer porlefTes more ornament and beauty. This fimplicity, which is now the object of our confederation, ftands oppofed, not to ornament, but to affectation of ornament ; and is a fuperior ex- cellency in compofition.
A writer who has attained fimplicity, has no marks of art in his expreflion; it appears the very language of nature. We fee not the writer and his labour, but
144 SIMPLICITY. AFFECTATION.
the man in his o\vn natural character. He may pofTefs richnefs of expreflion ; he may be full of figures and of fancy ; but thefe flow from him without difficulty ; and he feems to write in this manner, not becaufe he has ftudied it but becaufe it is the mode of expreffion moft familiar and eafy to him. With this character of ftyle, a certain degree of negligence is not inccnfiftent, nor even ungraceful -} for too accurate an attention to words is foreign to it. Simplicity of ftyle pofiefTes this con- liderable advantage, that, like fimplicity of manners, it ftiews us a man's fentiments and turn of mind laid open without difguife. A more ftudied and artificial mode of writing, however beautiful, has always this difadvantage, that it exhibits an author in form, like a man at court, where the fplendour of drefs, and the ceremonial of behaviour, conceal thofe peculiarities which diftinguim one individual from another. But reading an author of fimplicity, is like converfing with a peribn of rank at home, and with eafe, where we fee his natural manners and his real character.
With regard to limplicity, in general, we may ob- ferve, that the ancient original writers are always the moft eminent for it, This proceeds from a very obvi- ous caufe, thet they wrote from the dictates of natu- ral genius, and were not formed upon the labours and writings of others.
Of affectation in ftyle, which is oppofed to fimpli- city, we have a remarkable in fiance in our language.
SIMPLICITY — AFFECTATION. 145
Lord Shafteflbury, though an author of confiderable merit, can exprefs nothing with fimplicity. He feeras to have coniidered it as vulgar, and beneath the dignity of a man of faihion, to fpeak like other men. Hence, he is perpetually in bufkins; replete with circumlocu- tions and artificial elegance. In every fentence, the marks of labour are vifible ; no appearance of that eale, which expreffes a fentiment coming natural and warm from the heart. He abounds with figures and orna- ment of every kind; is fometimes happy in them ; but his fondnefs for them is too confpicuous ; and having once feized fome metaphor or allufion that pleafed him, he knows not how to part with it. He pofieffed deli- cacy and refinement oftafte, to a degree that may be called excellive and fickly ; but he had little warmth of paflion ; and the coldnefs of his chara&er fuggefted that artificial and (lately manner which appears in his writings. No author is more dangerous to the tribe of imitators than Shaftelbury, who, amidil leveral very confiderable blemifhes, has, at the fame time, many dazzling and impofing beauties.
It is very poflible, however, for an author to write with fimplicity, and yet to be deftitute of beauty. He may be free from afle&ation, and not have merit. The beautiful fimplicity fuppoles an author in pofleffion of real genius ; and capable of writing with folidity, pu- rit\r, and brilliancy of imagination. In this cafe, the O
SIMPLICITY — AFFECTATION, &CC.
Simplicity of his manner is the crowning ornament : it gives luftre to every other beauty ; it is the drefs of nature, without which all beauties are but imperfect. But if die mere abfence of affectation were fufficient to conftitute the beauty of ftyle, weak and dull writers might often have preventions to it. A diftinction, there- fore, muft be made, between that fimplicity which ac- companies true genius, and which is entirely compa- tible with every proper ornament of ftyle, and that which is the effect only of careleiTnefs and inattention.
Another character of ftyle, different from thole which have been already mentioned, is the vehement. This always fuppofes ftrength : and is not, in any refpecl, incompatible with fimplicity. It is diftinguifhed by a peculiar ardour ; it is the language of a man whofe imagination and paffions are glowing and impetuous. With a negligence of leffer graces, he pours himfelf forth with the rapidity and plentitude of a torrent. The vehement belongs to the higher kinds of oratory ; and is rather expefted from a man who is fpeaking, than from one who is writing in his clofet. Demofthenes is the moft full and perfect example of this fpecies of ftyle.
Having determined and explained the different cha- racters of ftyle, we mall conclude our obfervations with a few directions for the attainment of excellence in writing.
PROPER SfYLE.
The firft direction proper to be obfcrved, is. to fiudy clear ideas on the ftibjecl concerning which we are to write; or to fpeak. What we conceive cK-arly and feel ftrongly, we fhn.ll naturally exprefs with clearnefs and with flrength. We lliould, therefore, think clofely on the fubje6t, lil! we have attained a fall and di(un£l view of the matter which we are to clothe in woirs j till we become warm aud interelted in it ; then, and then only, lhall we find a proper expreilion begin to flow.
•
In the fecond place, to the acquifition of a good ftyle, the frequency of compofing is indifpenfibly re- quifite/ But it is not every kind of compofing which will improve ftyle. By a carelefs and hafty habit of writing, a bad ftyle will be acquired ; more trouble will afterwards be neceiTary to unlearn faults, and correct negligence, than to endeavour, from a ftate of entire ignorance, to become acquainted with the firft rudi- ments of compofition. In the beginning, therefore, we ought to write with deliberation and with care. Faci- lity and fpeed are the fruit of practice and experience. We muft be cautious, however, not to retard the courfe of thought, nor cool the ardour of imagination, by pauf- ing too long on every word we employ. On certain occafions, there is a glow of compofition which muft be kept up, if we expect to exprefs ourfelves happily, though at the expenfe of fome inaccuracies. A more O2
148 DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING
fevere examination muft be the work of correction. What we have written, fhould be laid by for fume time, till the ardour of competition be fubfided ; till the partiality for our expreflions be weakened, and the expreflions themfelves be forgotten ; and then examin- ing oar work with a cool and critical eye, as if it were the performance of another, we fliall difcovermany im- perfections which at firft efcaped our notice.
In the third place, an acquaintance with the ftyle of the beft authors is peculiarly requisite. Hence a juft taile will be formed ; and a copious fund be fupplied of words on every fubject. No exerciie, perhaps, will be found more ufeful for acquiring a proper ftyle, than to tranflate fome pafTage from an elegant author, into our own words. Thus, to take for inftauce, a p; one of Mr, Addifon's Spectators, and read it attentively two or three times, till we are in full poffeffion of the thoughts it contains} then to lay afide the book] to en- deavour to write out the pallage from memory, as well as we can ; and then to compare what we have written with the ftyle of the author. Such an exercife will, by companion, lliew us our own defects ; will teach us to correct them ; and, from the variety of expreffion which it will exhibit, will conduct us to that which is molt . beautiful and perfect.
In the fourth place, a caution muft be given againft a fenile imitation of any one author whatever. A de- fire of imitating hampers genius; and generally pro-
A PROPER STYLE.
duces a ftiffnefs of expreflion. They who follow an author minutely, commonly copy his faults as well as his beauties. No one will ever become an accomplished writer or fpeaker, who has not fome confidence in his own genius. We ought carefully to avoid ufmg any author's particular phrafes, or transcribing paflages from him : Such an habit will be fatal to all genuine c ntjon. It is much better to poflefs fomething of our own, though of inferior beauty, than to endeavour to fhine ill borrowed ornaments, which will, at laft, betray the utter barrennefs of our genius.
In the fifth place, it is a plain but important rule, with regard to ftyle, that we always endeavour to adapt it to the fubje<St, and likewife to the capacity of our hearers, if we are to fpeak in public. To attempt a poetical florid ftyle, when it fhould be our bufinefs only to argue and reafon, is in the highefl degree awkward and abfurd. To fpeak with elaborate pomp of words, before thofe who cannot comprehend them, is equally ridiculous and ufelels. "When we bpgin to write or fpeak, we fhould previoufly impress on our minds a complete idea of the end to be aimed at; keep this fteadily in view, and adapt our ftyle to it.
We muft, in the la ft place, recommend, that an at- tentive regard to ftyle do not occupy us fo much, as to detract from a higher degree of attention to the thoughts. This rule is the more neafTiry, fince the prefcnt tafte of O3
150 DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING, &C.
the age feems to be direfied more to ftyle than to thought.
It is much more eafy to drefs up trifling and common
thoughts with fome ornament of exprefllon, than to
afford a fund of vigorous, ingenious, and ufeful ftnti-
ments. The latter requires genius j the former may
be attained by induftry, with the aid of very fuperficial
parts. Hence the crowd of writers who are rich in
words, but poor in fentiments. Cuftom obliges us not
to be inattentive to the ornaments of ftyle, if we wifli
that oar labours mould be read and admired. But he
is a contemptible writer, who looks not beyond the drefs
of language j who lays not the chief ftrefs upon his
matter j and who does not regard ornament as a
fecondary and inferior recommendation.
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF MR. ADDISON'* SCYLE, IN No. 411 OF THE SPECTATOR.
H,
.AVING infifted rather copioufly on the fubject of language in general, we will now enter on a critical analyfis of the ftyle of fome good author. This will fuggeft obfervations which we have not hitherto had an opportunity of making, and will fliew in a proper light, fome of thole which have been made.
Mr. Addiibn, though one of the moft beautiful writers in our language, is not the moft correct; a circum- ftance which makes his competition the more proper fabjedfc of our prefent criticifm. We proceed, there- fore, to examine No. 411, the firft of his admired ell ays on the pleafures of the imagination, in the fixth volume of the Spectator. It begins thus :
Our figbt is tie moft ferfctl, and mqfl delightful of all eitrfcnfes.
This fentence is clear, precife, and fimple. The author, in a few plain words, exprefies the proportion which he is going to illuftrate. A firft fentence ihould feldom be long, and fliould never be difficult to be under flood.
152 CRITICAL EXAMINATION
He might have faid, our ji^lt is tie rnoft pcrficl, and tbe mojl delightful. But in omitting to repeat the parti- cle the, he has been more judicious ; fince between perfect and delightful, in the prefent cafe, there being no contraft, fuch a repetition was unneceflary. He proceeds :
It Jllh tbe mind <witb the largejl variety of ideas, con- verfes 'ivitb its objeffs at ibe great eft diftance, and conti- nues tbe longcft in aflion, witbout being tired or fatiatcd its proper enjoyments.
This fentence is remarkably harmonious, and \vell conftru6led. It is compleatly confpicuous. It is not loaded with unneceflary words. That quality of a good fentence which we termed its unity, is here entirely preferved. The members of it grow, and rife above each other in found, till it is conducted to one of the moft harmonious clofes which our language admits. It is figurative, without being too much fo for the fubjecl;. There is no fault whatever, except that a fevere critic might perhaps object, that the epithet large, which he applies to variety, is more commonly applied to extent than to number. It is evident, that he employed it to avoid the repetition of the word great, which occurs immediately afterwards.
Tbe fenfe (f feeling can, indeed, give us a notion of extenfion, Jbape, and all otter ideas that enter at tbe eyr, except colours; but, at tbe fame time, it is very muck
OP MR. ADDISON'S STYLE, 153
Jlraittncl and confined in its operations, to the number, bulk, and dijianoe of its particular o-'jcfls. But is not every fenfe confined, as- much as thq fenfe of feeling, to the number, balk, and diftance of its own objects ? The turn of rxpreiliou is alib here very inaccurate 3 and it requires the two words ivitb regard, to be inferted after the word operations, in order that the fenfe mould be rendered, at all, clear and intelligible. The epithet particular feems to be ufed inftead of peculiar; but thefe words, though often confounded, are of very dif- ferent import. Particular is oppofed \.o general ; peculiar {lands oppofed to what is poflefled in common iuitb others.
Our Jigbtfcems defigned to fupply all thtfe defetts, and and may be confidered as a more delicate and diffufive kind of touch, tbat fpreads It/elf over an infinite multi- tude of bodies, comprehends the largeft Jigures, and brings into our reach fame of the mojl remote parts of the unwerfc.
This fentence is peripicuous, graceful, well arranged, and highly harmonious. Its conftruclion is fo fimilar to that of the fecond fentence, that, had it immediately fucceeded it, the ear would have been fenfible of a faulty monotony. Another fentence being interpofed, however, prevents this unpleafing effect.
It is this fenfe ivbicb furnijbes the imagination *u)itb its ideas ; fo tbat by the fltafures of the imagination or
154 CRITICAL EXAMINATION
fancy, (winch I Jhall ufe promifcuovjly) 1 here mean fuels as arifefrom vifible objeffs, either wbeti we have them ac- tually in vie-w, or when we call up their ideas into ottr minds by paintings, Jlatues, dtfcriptions , or any tic like occafion.
The parenthefis in the middle of this fentence, is not fufficiently dear: It fliould have been, terms which I Jhall ufe frornifcuovjly 5 fince the verb ufe does not relate to the pleafures of the imagination, but to the terms of fancy and imagination, which were meant to be fyno- nymous. To call a painting or a ftatue an occajion, is not an accurate exprefiion ; nor is it very jult to fpeak of calling up ideas by occajions. The common phrafe, any fucb means, would have been more natural and proper.
We cannot indeed have a Jingle image in tie fancy, tbat did not make its firjt entrance through the fight ; but we have the power of retaining, altering, and confound- ing thofe images ivbicb iiue ba-ve once received, into all the •varieties of picture and vijion tbat are mojl agreeable to the imagination ; for, by this faculty, a man in a dungeon is capable of entertaining b-imfelf with fcenes and landf capes more beautiful than any tbat can le found in the whole compafs of nature.
In one member of this fentence there is an inaccuracy in fyntax. It is proper to fay, altering and compounding tbufe images which we ba-ve once received, into all the va-
OF MR. AD BISON'S STYLE. 15."»
rictics of plfiurc and infion : Eat we cannot with pro- priety fay, retaining them into all the varieties ; and yet the arrangement requires this conftrucTion. This errcr would have been avoided by arranging the paffage in the following manner : " We have the power of re- taining, altering, and compounding thofe images which v.-e have once received ; and of forming them into all the the varieties of pifture and vifion.— The latter part of the fentence is perfpicuous and elegant.
There are few words in tie Englijb language, wbicb are employed in a more loofe and uncircumfcribcdfenfe, than tcofe of the fancy and tbe imagination.
Except when fome aflertion of confequence is ad- vanced, thefe little words, it is, and there arc, ought to be avoided as redundant and enfeebling. The two firfl words of this fentence, therefore, would have been much better omitted. The article prefixed to fancy and imagination, Ihould allb have been left out, fince he does not mean the power of tbe fancy and tbe imagination, but the words only. It had better been thus exprefled : '•' Few words in the Englilh language are employed in " a more loofe and uncircumfcribed fenfe, than fancy " and imagination."
I therefore thought it necejjary to fix and determine tbe notion of theft t<wo ivords, as I intend to make ufe of them in tbe thread of my following fpeculations, that tbe reader may conceive rightly what is the Jubjett '•jjlncb I proceed upon.
156 CRITICAL EXAMINATION
The words Jlx and determine, though they may ap- pear fo at firft fight, are not fynonymous. We Jlx what is loofe ; we determine what is uncircumfcribed. They may be viewed, therefore, as applied here, with peculiar delicacy. .
The notion of tbefe words, is rather harfh, and is not fo commonly tiled as the meaning of tbcfe words — as I intend to make ufe cf flcm in tbe thread of my /peculations —this is evidently faulty. A metaphor is improperly mixed with the words in the literal fenfe. Thefubjcff •wbicb I proceed upon, is an ungraceful clofe of a fen- tence ; it fhould have been, tbe fvljeci upon nubicb I proceed.
I mujl therefore drfiri". bim to remember, tbat ly tbe pha- fures of tbe imagination, I mean only fucb pleafures as arife originally fromjtgbt, and tbat I divide tbefe pleafures into two kinds.
This fentence begins in a manner too fimilar to the preceding — I mean only fucb pleafures — the adverb only is not here in its proper place: It is not defigned to qua- lify the verb mean, but fucb pleafures, and ought con- fequently to have been placed immediately after the latter.
My dejign being, f.rft cf all, to difcourfe cf tbofc pri- mary pleafures of tbe imagination, lubicb entirely proceed from fucb oljetts as are before our eyes ; and in tbe next place, to fpeak of tbofe fecondary pleafures of tbe imagina-
OF MR. ADDISON'S STYLE. 157
tion, which flow frym the ideas of viftble objc&s, when tbe otyei&s are not actually before tie eve, but are called uf> into our memories, or formed into agreeablt •vifiom things, tbat are either alfint or Jiflitious.
This fentence is fomewhat closrged by a tedious phrafeology— My dfjign being frjl of all to ttifccurfe— in tie nevt place tofpeak of—fueb okjetis as are before ovr eyes— things tbat are eitber abfcht or JicTilioiis . Several words might have been here omitted> and the fty'e ren- dered more neat and compact.
The pleaftiris of the imagination, taken in their full extent, are not fo grofs as tbofe of ' Jenje, ner fa rejined us tbofe of the under/landing.
This fcntence is clear and elegant.
The lafi are indeed more preferable, lecaufe tb<y are founded on fome neiv knowledge or improvement in the mind of man : Yet it muft be confejfid, tbat tbofe of imagination arc as great and as tranf porting at tbe. oiler.
The phrafe. more preferable, is fo palpable an inaccu- racy, that one is fnrprized how it could have eicaped the obfervation of Mr. Addilbn. The propofition .con- tained in the latf member of this fentence, is neither clearly nor elegantly ex; relied — It muft be cvnfeffed, tbat tbofe of tbe imagination are as great, and as tranf- fcrting as tbe other. In the beginning of this lenience, P
158 CRITICAL EXAMINATION
he had called the pleafures of the understanding the la/I; and he concludes with obferving, that thole of the imagination are as great and tranfpoiting as the itler. Befides that the other makes not a proper con- traft with the laft, it is lels doubtful ; whether by the ttber, are meant the pleafures of the underftanding or the pleafures of fenfe ; though no doubt it was intended to refer to the pleafures of the underftanding only.
A beautiful frofpefl deliglts tie foul as mud as a de- nonflraiion; and a definition in Homer las cbarmed more rcc..lers titan a chapter in driftotle.
This is a good illuftration of what had been aflerted, and is expreffed with that elegance for which Mr. Ad- difon is ditunguifhed.
Befijes, tbe phafures of tie imagination lave tin ad- vantage abcve tbofe of tie underjlanding, that they art obvious, and more eafy to be acquired.
This fentence is unexceptionable.
/.' is but opening tie eye, and tie fcene enters.
Though this is lively and pi&urefque, yet we mnft remark a fmall inaccuracy — A fcene cannot be faid to enter ; an attor enters ; but a fcene appears, or frefents
Tie colours paint tbemfelves on tie fancy, iviib •very little attention of tbougbt or application of mind in tie beholder.
ep MR. ADDISON'S STYLE. 15()
This is beautiful and elegant, and well fuited to thofe pleafures of the imagination, of which the author is treating.
We. art ftruck, we know not bout, with toe fymmetry of any thing <we fee j and immediately afftnt to tie. beauty of an obj-:tf, 'without enquiring into the particular caufes and occafions tf if.
We ajfent to the truth of a propofition ; but cannot, without impropriety, be faid to ajfent to the beauty of an objetf. In the conclulion, both particular and occajiom are fuperfluous words ; and the pronoun it, is in feme mealure doubtful, whether as referring to beauty or to objed.
A man of polite imagination is let into a great many pleafures, that the vulgar are not capable of receiving.
It may here, perhaps, be objected, that the word polite, is oftener applied to manners than to the imagi- nation.— The ufe of that inftead of <wbicb is too com- mon with Mr. Addifon. Except in cafes where it is neceffary to avoid an ungraceful repetition, ivbicb is efleemed preferable to tbat, and was undoubtedly fo in the prefent inftance.
He can convcrfe <whb a pitlurc, and Jind an agreeable
companion in ajlatue. He meets ivitb a fecret refrfjbment
in a description ; and often feeh a greater fatisfaftion in
tbe profpett of fclds and meadows, tban anotber does in
P2
l6() CRITICAL EXAMINATION
••
tie pojftjjlon. It gives him, indeed, a kind of property in
ivcry. tb'nig be fees ; and makes tie moft rude unciJ:
•
farts of nature adrmnifter to bis 'pleasures : So that be looks upon the world, as it 'were, in another ligbt, and-dif- ccvers in it a iniiititude of cbarms tbat conceal tbemfshcs from the generality of mankind.
This fentence is eafy, flowing, and harmonious. We muft, however, obferve a flight inaccuracy — It gives bim a kind of property — to this it there is no antecedent in the whole paragraph. To diieover its connexion, we mull look back to the third fentence preceding1, which begins with, a man rf a polite imagination* This phrafe, polite imagination, is the only antecedent to which it can refer) and even that is not a proper antecedent, fmcc it ftands in the genitive cafe, as the qualification only of a man.
Tbere are, indeed, but very few- wlo k?.t>TV bow io be idle and innocent, or bave a relijb of any pleafures tbat an not criminal\ every diverfion tbey take is at tbe experje of Jome one virtue or another j a-;d their very jirft Jlej> out of bujinefs is into vice and folly.
This fentence is truly elegant, mufical, and corrcft,
A man Jbould endeavour, tbercfore, to make tbe fpbere of Us innocent fleaftires as wide as poffible, tbat be may retire into tben witbfafcty, and fnd in them, fucba falis^ faflion as a ivife man would not blujb to take.
This is a proper fentence, and expofed to no objection.
OP MR. ADDISON'S STYLE.
Of tils nature are tbofe of tie imagination, wind do not require fuel a bent of tbougbt as is necejjfary to our more ferious employments ; nor, at tbe fame time , fttjfer tie mind to Jink into that indolence and retniffhefs, which are apt to accompany our more fenfual delights ; but like a, gentle exercife to tbe faculties, a<wak,'n them from Jlotb and idlenefs, tvitbout putting ibexi upon a?y labour tr difficulty.
The beginning of this fentence is incorrect — Of tbis nature, fays he, are tbofe of tbe imagination. It might be afked, of what nature ? For the preceding fentence had not defcribed the nature of any clafs of pleafures. He had faid, that it was every man's duty to make the fphere of his innocent pleafures as extenfive as poffible, in order that, within that fphere, he might find a fafe retreat and a laudable fatisfaflion. The tranfition therefore, is made loofely. It would have been better if he had faid, " This advantage we gain," or " This " fatisfa&ion we enjoy," by means of the pleafures of the imagination. The reft of the fentence is beautiful and unexceptionable.
We migbt bere add, tbat tbe pleafures of tbe fancy are wore conducive to bealtb than tbofe cf tbe under/landing, •wbicb are worked out by dint of tbinking, and attended ivitb 4oo violent a labour of tbe brain.
A minute critic might here obferve, that worked out P 3
]62 CRITICAL EXAMINATION
by dint of thinking, is a phrafe which borders too much
on the ftyle of common converfation, to be admitted, j . «
with propriety, in.to a polifhed competition.
Delightful fee nes, whether in nature, fainting, or poetry, have a kindly influence on the body, as 'well as the mind, and not only ferve to char and brighten the imagination^ tut are able to difpcrfe grief and melancholy, and to fct ibe animal fpirits in pleajing and agreeable motions. For ibis reafon, Sir Francis Bacon, in bis FJJay upon Healtb, las not thought it improper to prefcribe to bis reader a poem, or a profpecJ, ivbere be particularly dijjuades bim from knotty and fubtile dijquifitions, and advifes bim to purfue Jludies tbat fill tie mind ivitb fphndid and illujlrious ob- jects, as biftories, fables, and contemplations of nature.
In the latter of thefc two fentences, a member of the period is improperly placed — Where be particularly dif- fuades bim from knotty and fubtile difquijitions, bas not ibougbt it improper, &c.
/ bave, in tbis paper-, by way of introduction, fettled ibe notion of tbofe pleafures of ibe imagination, wbicb arc tbe fubjefl of my prejent undertaking 5 and endeavoured, fy feveral confederations, to recommend to my readers tbe purfuit of tbofe pleafures; I Jball, in my next paper, exa- mine tbe federal fources from wbence tbefe pleafures art derived.
Thefe two concluding fentences furnifti examples of the proper collocation of circumftances in a period. We
OF MR. ADDTSON'S STYLE. 1(33
have formerly fhewed, that a judicious collocation of
them is a mutter of dilliruity. II;-:d the following in-
'
cidental circumftances— by way of iatroduflion—by fe-
. . ' J
•veral coj;fideratiom — in tbi< paper — in tec next paper
been placed in any other fituution, the lentence would neither have been fo neat nor fo clear as it is by the prefent conflru&ion.
ELOQUENCE.
ORIGIN OF ELOQUENCE.
GRECIAN ELOQUENCE.
DEMOSTHENES.
ELOQUENCE is the art of periuafion. Its moil eflcntia! requifites are, folid argument, clear method, and nn appearance of fincerity in the fpeaker, with fuch graces of ftyle and utterance, as ihall invite and command attention. Good fenfe muft be its foundation. V. itiiout this, no mail can be truly eloquent ; iince fools can perfuade none but fools. Before we can per- r.:p.(!e a man of fen'V, we mull convince him. Con- vincing and perfuading, though fometimes confounded, are of very different im ort. Conviction afie&s the un- derftanding only ; perfnafi< n, the will ai.d the practice. It is the bufinef« of the phi!n(b> her to convince us of truth ; it is that of the orator 10 perfuade us to a 61 comformabh to it, by engaging our affections in its fa- vour. Con vision is, however, one avenue to the heart -, and it is that which an orator inuftfirtt attempt to gain j for no perfuafim can be flable, which is not founded on convitf ion. But the orator muft not be fatisfied with convincing; he muft addrefs himfelf to the paffions ; he muft paint to the fancy, and touch, the heart) and
ELOQUENCE.
165
hepce, befide folid argument and clear method, all the
0
captivating and interefting arts, both of compoiitlon and '.nriation, enter into the idea of eloquence.
Elortueiice may be confidered as confifting of three kinds, or degrees. The fir ft, and mbft inferior, is that v.aich endeavours only to pleate the hearers. Such, in general, 'L the eloquence of panegyricks, inaugural orations, adclreflks to great men, an i other harangues of this k\ad. This orna-nental fortW compofition may innocently ainufe and entertain the mind ; and may be connected, at the fame time, wnh very ufeful fenti- roents. But it muft be acknowledged, that where the fpeaker Intends, only to fliine and to pleafe, there is no fmall danger of art being ftrained into oftentation, and of the compofition becoming tirefome and infii id.
A fecond arid a fuperior degree of eloquence is, when the fpeaker propofes, not merely to pleafe, but like- wife to inform, to inftruft, to convince} when his art is employed in removing prejudices againft hirnfelf and his caufe ; in fe'leflting the moft proper arguments, fta- ting them with the greateO: force, difpofing of them in the belt order, exprefling and delivering them with pro- priety and beauty ; and thereby preparing us to paf* that judgment, or favour that fide of the caufe, to which he defires to bring ns. v ithin this degi^ee, chietly, is employed the eloquence of the bar.
Yet there remains a third, and ftill higher degree of
£?/-
ORIGIN OP ELOQUENCE.
eloquence, by which we are not only convinced, but are interefte-.l, agitated, and carried along with tfre fpeaker: our pailions arire vMth his: we ihare all hh emotions; we love, we hate, we ref-ut, as he inspires us ; and are prepared to refolve, or to aft, vviih vigour and warmth. Debate, in popular aifemblies, opens the moft ex ten five field for the exercile of this fpecies of eloquence ; and the pulpit likewise admits it.
It is neceifary to remark, that this high fpecies of eloquence is always the offspring of pafiion. By paf- fion, we mem that ftate of the mind in -which it Is agi- tated and fired by Tome oMrft it has in view. Hencs the univerfally acknowledged power of emhu£'!m in publick fpeakers, affe6ting their anc'.ienve Hence all ftudied declamation/ and laboured ''ornaments of ftyle, which {hew the nund to be con] and unmoved, are fo incompatible with pf-rfusfive eloqut-nce. Hence every kind of affedtarion in gefture ahr pronunciation, dimi- nifli fo much the merits ut a fpeaker. Hence, in fine, the nc.ceffity of being, and of being believed to be, dif- interefted and in earnelt, in order to perfuade.
In tracing the origin of eloquence, it is not neceflary to go far back into the ea:ly ages oi the world, or to fearch for it among the monuments of Eaftern or Egyptian antiquity. In thole ages, it is true, there was a certain kind of eloquence ; but it was more nearly allied to poetry than to what we properly call oratory. Whilft the intercourfe among men was unfrequent, and
GRECIAN ELOQUENCE. l(>7
force and ftrength were the principal means emplo) ed in deciding con trover fies, the arts of oratory ;.n-i prrlua- fion, of reafoning and debate, could be little known. The firft empires thai arofe, the Attyrian and Egyptian, were of the defpotic kind. A (ingle perlbn, or at moft a few, held the rdns of government. The multitude were accuftomcd to a blind obedience ; they were driven, not perluaded ; and confequcntly, none of thofe refinements of fociety, wi.ich make \ ublic fpeak- ing an obje6l of importance, were as yet introduced.
It is not till the origin of the Grecian Republics, that we perceive any remarkable appearances of eloquence as the art of perfuafion ; and thet'e opened to it iuch a field as it never had before, and, perhaps, has never again, fince that time, experienced. Greece was di- vided into a number of little ftates. Thefe were go- verned, at firft, by kings, wo were, not unmeaningly, termed tyrants, and who being fucceffively, by the wif- dom of the people, expelled from their dominions, there fprung up a multitude of democratical governments, founded nearly upon the fame plan, animated by the fame glorious fpirit of freedom, mutually jealous, and rivals of each other. Among thefe, Athens drone forth with a fu erior Inftre. In this ftate, arts of every kind, but elpecially, eloquence was brought to the high- eft perfection. We fhi.ll pafs over the orators who fkmrilhed in the early period of this Republic, and take a view of the great Demofthenes, in whom eloquence
168 DEMOSTHENES.
fhone forth with the higheft and moft unrivaled fylen- dour. Not formed by nature either to pleaie o: to per- faade. he ftruggled with, and furmounted, the moft formidable impediments. He ihut hirplelf up in a cave, that he might ttudy with lef- diftracVion. He declaimed by the fea fhore, that he might be uied to the noife of a tumultuous aflembly ; and with pebbles in his mouth, that he might correft a defeat in hi.s fpeech. He prac- tifed at home with a n:iked fword hanging over his fhoulder, that he might check an ungraceful nfotion to which he was fubje/t. Hence, the example of this great man affoids the higheft encou^uiunt to every ftudent of eloquence, fince it fl;ew.s hay far art ai:d application could avail, for acc.r.iiing an excellence •which nature apj;ea;ed willing to iuv.e denied.
No orator had ever a finer field than Demofthenes, in his Olynthiacs and Philippics, \\hich nre his capital orations; and undoubtedly, to the greotnefs of the fub- jeft, and to that integrity and public f; irit wl;ich breathe in them, they owe a large portion of their merit. The fubjeft is, to excite the indignation of his countrymen againft Philip the Macedon, the public enemy of the liberties of Greece; and to guard them againft the trea- cherous meafures, by which that crafty 'yrant endea- voured to lull them into a neg!e6t of their danger. To attain this end, we fee him ufe every proper. means to animate a people, diftinguifhed by julticf, humanity, and valour ; but in many inftances become corri^ t and
DEMOSTHENES. l6l)
degenerate. He boldly accufes them of venality, indo- lence, and indifference to the public good ; while, at the fame time, he reminds them of their former glory, and of their prefent refources. His contemporary ora- tors, who were bribed by Philip, and who perfuaded the people to peace, he openly reproaches as traitors to their country. He not only prompts to vigorous meafures, but teaches how they are to be carried into execution. His orations are (trongly animated, and full of the im- petuofity and ardour of public fpirit. His compofition is not diftinguilhed by ornament and fplendour. It is an energy of thought, peculiarly his own, which forms his character, and raifes him above his fpecies. He feems not to attend to words, but to things. We forget the orator, and think of the fubjeft. He has no parade and oftentation j no ftudied introductions j but is like a man full of his fubjecl:, who, after preparing his audi- ence by a fentence or two, for the reception of plain truths, enters dire&ly on bufinefs.
The ftyle of Demofthenes is ftrong and concife ; though fometimes, it muft be confefled, harm and abrupt. His words are highly expreflive, and his ar- rangement firm and manly. Negligent of leffer gra- ces, he feems to have aimed at that fublime which lies in fentiment. His a6lion and pronunciation are faid to have been uncommonly vehement and ardent ; which, from the manner of his writings, we fliould readily be-
a
/ DEMOSTHENES.
lieve. Hh cha rafter appears to have been of the auflere, rather than of the gentle kind. He is always grave, ferious, paffionate ; never degrading hinifelf, nor at- tempting any thing like pleafantry. If his Admirable eloquence be in any refpeft faulty, it is that he ibme- times borders on the hard and dry. He may be thought to want fcnoothnefs and grace ; which is attributed to his imitating too clofely the minner of Thucydides, •who was his great model for ftyle, and whole hiitory he is faid to have tranfcribed eight times with his own hand. But thefe defefts are more than attoned for, by the mafterly force of mafcnline eloquence, which, as it overpowered all who heard it, cannot, in the prefent dav, be rt?.d without emotion.
ROMAN ELOQUENCE-CICERO. MODERN ELOQUENCE.
.AVING treated of the flate of eloquence among the Greeks, we now proceed to confider its progrefs among the Romans $ where we (hall find one model, at leaft, of eloquence, in its moft fplendid and culti- vated form. The Romans derived their eloquence, poetry, and learning from the Greeks, and were, con- fequently, far inferior to them in genius for all thefe accomplimments. They had neither their vivacity nor fenfibility ; their paffions were not fo eafily moved, nor their conceptions fo vigorous ; in comparifon of them they were a phlegmetic people. Their language bore a refemblance to their character j it was regular, firm, and flately j but wanted that exprefiive fimplicity, that flexibility to fuit every different fpecies of competition, for which the Greek tongue is peculiarly diftinguimed. And hence, by comparifon, we (hall always find, that in the Greek productions there is more native genius ; in the Roman, more regularity and art.
Since the Roman government, during the Republic, was of the popular kind, public fpeaking, no doubt, became early the menus of acquiring power, honcur, Q 2
ROMAN ELOQUENCE.
and diftinction. But in the rude, unpolifhed times of the ftate, their fpeaking could hardly deferve the name of eloquence. It was not till a fhort time preceding the age of Cicero, that the Roman orators rofe into any reputation. Craflus and Antonius feem to have been the moft eminent ; but as none of their produc- tions are extant, nor any of Hortenfius's, who was Cicero's rival at the bar, it is not neceflary to tranfcribe what Cicero has faid of them, and of the character of their eloquence.
The object moft worthy of our attention is Cicero himfelf, whofe name alone fuggefts to us whatever is fplendid in oratory. With his life and character, in other refpects, we are not at prefent concerned. We {hall view him only as an eloquent fpeaker, and endea- vour to remark both his virtues and his defects. His virtues are, beyond doubt, fuperlatively great. In all his orations his art is confpicuous. He begins com- monly, with a regular exordium, and with much ad- drefs prepoflefles the hearers, and fludies to gain their affections. His method is clear, and his arguments are arranged with exact propriety. In a fuperiour clearnefs of method, he has an advantage over Demofthenes. Every thing appears in its proper place ; he never tries to move till he has attempted to convince; and in moving, particularly the Ibfter paffions, he is highly fuccefsful. No one ever knew the force of words bet- ter than Cicero. He rolls them along with the greateft
CICERO. 173
beauty and magnificence ; and in the ftruchire of his fentences, is eminently curious and exact. Me is al- ways full and flowing; never abrupt. lie amplifies every thing ; yet though his manner is generally dilFufe it is often happily varied, and accommodated to the fubject. When an important public object roulVd hi* mind, and demanded indignation and force, he d..-p.irts confiderably from that loofe and declamatory manne.r to which he at other times is addicted,- and becomes very forcible and vehement.
This great orator, however, is not without his de- fects. In moft of his orations there is too much art, even carried to a degree of oftcntation. He feenls often defirous of obtaining admiration, rather than of oper- ating conviction. He is fometimes, therefore, fhowy rather than folid ; and diffufe where he ought to have been urgent. His fentences are always round and ibno- rous; they cannot be accu fed of monotony, fi nee they poiTes variety of cadence ; but from too great a fond- nefs for magnificence, he is on fome occafions deficient in ftrength. Though the fervices which he had per- formed to his country were very considerable, yet he is too much his own panegyrift. Ancient manners, which impofed fewer reftraints on the fide of decorum, may in fome degree excufe, but cannot entirely juftify his vanity.
Whether Demoithenes or Cicero be the moft perfcft Q3
174 ROMAN ELOQUENCE.
orator, is a queftion on which critics are by no means agreed. Fenelon, the celebrated Archbifliop of Cambray, and author of Telemachus, Teems, in our opinion, to have ftated their merits with great juftice and peripicu- ity. His judgment is given in his Reflexions on Rhe- toric and Poetry. We lhall tranflate the paflage, though not, it is to be feared, without lofing much of the fpirit of the original. " I do not hefitate to de- " clare," fays he, " that I think Demofthenes fuperior " to Cicero. I am perfuaded no one can admire " Cicero more than I do. He adorns whatever he at- " tempts. He does honour to language. He difpofes " of words in a manner peculiar to himfelf. His ftyle " has great variety of character. Whenever he pleafes, «' he is even concife and vehement ; for inftance, againft "Catiline, againft Verres, againft Anthony. But or- " nament is too vifible in his writings. His art is won- " derful, but it is perceived. When the orator is pro- " viding for the fafety of the Republic, he forgets not " himlelf, nor permits others to forget him. Demoft- " henes feems to efcape from himfelf, and to fee nothing " but his country. He feeks not elegance of expreflionj " unfought for he poflefles it. He is fuperior to admi- " ration. He makes ufe of language, as a modeft man " does of drefs, only to cover him. He thunders, he " lightens. He is a torrent which carries every thing " before it. We cannot criticife, becaufe we are not " ourfelves. His fubje£t enchains our attention, and " makes us forget his language. We lofe him from
MODERN ELOQUENCE. 175
" our fight : Philip alone occupies our minds. I am " delicti .! with both thefV orators j but I confefs that " I am lef-- affected by tlie infinite art and magnificent rt eloquence of Cicero, than by the rapid fimplicity of " Demofthenes."
The empire of plopuence, among the Romans, was exceedingly fhort. It expired with Cicero. Nor can we wonder at this being the cafe, fince liberty was no more ; and fince the government of Rome was deli- vered over to a fucceilion of the moft execrable ty- rants that ever difgraced and fcourged the human race.
Jn the decline of the Roman Empire, the introduction of Chriitianity gave rife to a new kind of eloquence, in the apologies, fermons and paftoral writings of the fa- But none of them afforded very juft models of eloquence. Their language, as foon as we defcend to the third or f;» tu becomes harfh ; and they
are, generally, infected with the tafte of that age, a love of fwoln and drained thoughts, and of the play of words.
As nothing occurs that deferves attention in the mid- dle ages, we pafs now to the ftate of eloquence in mo- dern times. Here it muft be acknowledged, that in no European nation, public fpeaking has been valued fo highly, or cultivated with fo much care, as in Greece and Rome. The genius of the world appears, in this
MODERN ELOQUENCE.
refpeft, to have undergone fomc. alteration. The two nations where we might ex>e£t to find raoft of the f.-int of eloquence, are France and Great Bri'ain : France, on account of the diftinguifhed turn of its inhabitants towards ail the liberal arts, and of the en- couragement which, for more than a century paft, thofe arts have received from the public : Great Britain, on account of its free government, and the liberal fpirit and genius of its people. Yet in neither of thefe countries has the talent of oratory rifen near to the de- gree of its ancient fplendour.
Several reafons may be given, why modern eloquence has been fo confined, and humble in its efforts. In the firft place, it feems, that this change muft, in part, be afcribe'l to that accurate turn of thinking, which has been fo much cultivated in modern times. Our public fpeakers are obliged to be more referved than the an- cients, in their endeavours to elevate the imagination and warm the paffions ; and, by the influence of pre- vailing tafte, their own genius is, perhaps, in too great a degree, rendered chafte and delicate. It is probable alfo, that we afcribe to our corre&nefs and good fenfe, what is chiefly owing to the phlegm and natural cold- nefs of our difpofition. For the vivacity and fenfibi- lity of the Greeks and Romans, more particularly of the former, feem to have been much fuperior to ours, and to have communicated to them a higher relifh for all the beauties of oratory.
MODERN ELOQUENCE. 177
Though the Parliament of our own nation be the nobleft field winch Europe at prefent affords to a public fpeaker, yet eloquence has ever been there a more feeble inftmment than in the popular affembues of Greece and Rome. Under fome foreign reigns, the iron hand of arbitrary power checked its efforts ; and, in later times, minifterial influence has generally ren- dered it of fmall importance: At the bar, our difad- vantage, in comparifon of the ancients, is confiderable. Among them, the. judges were commonly numerous j the laws were few and fimple ; the decifi^n of caufes was left, in a great meafure, to equity, and the fenfe of mankind. Hence the field for judicial eloquence was large and am, le. But at prefent, the fyftem of law is become much more complicated. The knowledge of it is rendered fo laborious an attainment, as to constitute the bufinefs of a man's life. Speaking is, therefore, only a fecondary accomplishment, for which he has little leifure.
With refpeft to the pulpit, it has been highly difad- vantageous, that the habit of reading fermons, inftead of repeating them, has prevailed fo univerfally in Eng- land. By this habit, indeed, accuracy may have been introduced, but eloquence has been much enfeebled. Another circumftance too, has been prejtidi- Sal. The feftaries and fanatics, before the Restoration, ufed a warm, zealous, and popular manner of prenching; and their adherents afterwards continued to diftinguilh
178 MODERN ELOQUENCE.
themfelves by a fimilar ardour. A hatred of thefe fedts drove the eftablifhed church into the oppofite extreme, of a ftudied coolnefs of expreffion. Hence, from the art of perfuafton, which preaching ought ever to be, it has patted, with m, into mere reafoning and inftrvuStion.
ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES.
T JL FIE foundation of every fpccics of eloquence, 1$
good fenfe, and loiid thought. It lliould be the firft fiudy of him \vho means to addrefs any popular afiem- bly, to be prcvioufly mafter of the butinefs on which he is tofpeak; to be well provided with matter and argument ; and to reft upon thefe the chief ftrefs. This Jwill give to language an air of manlinefs and itrength, which is a principal inftrument of perfuafion. Orna- ment, if there be a genius for it, will fucceed of courle j and at any rate, it deferves only a fecondary regard.
To become a perfuafive fpeaker in a popular aflembly, it feems to be a capital rule, that a man fhould always be perfuaded of whatever he recommends to others. Never, if it can be avoided, fliould he efpoufe any Mde of the argument, but what he believes to be the juft one. All high eloquence muft be the offspring of real, unaffected paili'm. This makes every man perfuafne, and gives a force to his genius, which it cannot other- wife poflefs.
Debate, in popular aflemblies, feldom allows the fpeaker that previous preparation, which the pulpit al- way3, and the bar fometimes, admits. A general pre-
180 ELOQUENCE OF
judice prevails, and not an unjuft one, againft fet fpeeches in public meetings. At the opening of a de- bate, they may, indeed, fometimes be introduced with propriety ; but as the debate advances, they become improper ; they commonly lofe the appearance of being fuggefted by the bufinels that is going on. Study and oftentation are apt to be too con fpic nous ; and, con- fequently, though atlmired as elegant, they are feldom fo perluafive as more free and uncoultrained difcourfes.
This, however, does not by any means prohibit the premeditation of the fubjecl on which we intend to fpeak. With refpecl to the matter, we cannot be too ac- curate in our preparation ; but will) regard to words and expreliion, it is very poliible to be fo afliduous, as to render our fpeech ftiffand precife. A few fhort notes of the fubftance of the difcouvfe, are, however, not only allowable, but of coniiderable Service, to thofe, cfpecially, who are beginning to fpeak in pub'ic. They will teach them a degree of accuracy, which, if they fpeak frequently, they are in danger too loon of lofing. They will accuftom them to a diftinft arrangement, without which, eloquence, however great, cannot pro- duce entire conviction.
Po ular aflemHies afford frope for the moft animated manner oi public f, caking. P flion is eafily ext'ittd in a great alfembly, where the n)o\ements arc communi- cated by mutual fympalhy between the orator an 'l;e audience. That ardour of fpeech, that vehemence and
POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 181
\\armth of fentiment, which proceed from a mind ani- mated and infpired by fome great and public object, con- ftitute the peculiar character of popular eloquence, in its higheft degree of perfection.
The warmth, however, which we exprefs, nmft be always fuited to the fubject ; fince it would be ridicu- lous to introduce great vehemence concerning a matter which is either of fmall importance, or which, by its na- ture requires to be treated of with calmnefs. We muft alfo be careful -not to counterfeit warmth without feel- ing it. The beft rule is, to follow nature ; and never to attempt a ftrain of eloquence which is not prompted by our own genius. A fpeaker may acquire both repu- tation and influence, by a calm argumentative manner, To reach the pathetic and fublime of oratory, requires thofe ftrong fenfibilities of mind, and that high power of exprefiion, which are the lot of a very fmall portion of mankind.
Even when vehemence is juftified by the fubjetf, and prompted by genius ; when warmth is felt, not feigned j we muft, however, be cautious, left impetuofity cany us beyond the bounds of pi udence and propriety. If the fpeaker lofe the command of 1 iinfelf, he will foon ceafe to influence his hearers. He ihould begin with moder- ation ; and endeavour to warm his audience gradually and equally with himfelf. For if their paflfions be not in unifon with his, the difcord will foon become difa- II
ELOQUENCE OF
greeable and offenfive. Refpeft for his hearers fhould always. fey a decent reftraint upon his warmth, and pre- vent it from carrying him beyond proper limits. When this is the cafe, when a i],eaker is fo far matter of him- felf as to prefcrve cloie attention to argument, and even to fome degree of accurate expreflion, this felf-com- mand, this effort of reafon, in the mid ft of paflion, con- tributes in the higheft degree, both to pleafe and to perfuade. The advantages of pallion are afforded for the purpofes of perfuafion, without that confufion and diforder which are its ufual attendants.
In the moft animated ftrain of popular fpeaking, we inuft always preferve a due regard to what the public ear will receive without difguft. Without an attention to this, an injudicious imitation of ancient orators might betray a fpeaker into a boldnefs of manner, with which the coolnefs of modern tafte would be diifatisfied and dif- pleafed. It is alfo neceflary, to attend with care to all the decorums of time, place, and character. No ardour of eloquence can atone for the neglect of thefe. No one fhould attempt to fpeak in public, without forming to himfelf a juft and Uriel: idea of what is fuitable to his age and character; what is fuitable to the fubjecl, the hearers, the place, and the occafion. On this idea he fhould adjuft the whole train and manner of his elo- cution.
What degree of concifenefs or diffufenefs is fuited to popular eloquence, it is not eafy to determine with pre-
POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 183
cilion. A diffufe manner is generally confidered as the moft proper. It feems, however, that there is danger of erring in this refpeft; and that, by too diffufe a ftyle, public fpeakers often loie more in point of ftrengtb, than they gain by the fulnels of their illuftration. Ex- celfive concifenefs, indeed, muft be cautioufly avoided. We muft explain and inculcate ; but confine ourfelves within certain limits. We never forget, that however we may be delighted with hearing ourfelves fpeak, every audience is apt to tire ; and the moment they grow weary, our eloquence becomes ufelefs. It is better, in, general, to fay too little than too much ; to place our thought in one firong point of view, and reft it there, than by fhewing it in every light, and pouring forth a profufion of words upon it, exhauft the attention of our hearers, and leave them languid and fatigued.
n
ELOQUENCE OF THE BAIL
T
A HE objects of eloquence at the bar, and in popu- lar nlfemblies, are commonly different. In the latter, the orator endeavours principally to perfuade ; to deter- mine his hearers to fome choice, or conduct, as good, fit, or ufeful. He confequently applies himfelf to every principle of action in our nature ; to the pafiions, and to the heart, as well as to the underftanding. At the bar, however, conviction is the principal object. There the fpeaker's duty is not to perfuade the judges to what is good or ufeful, but to exhibit what is juft and true ; and confequently, it is to the underftanding that his eloquence is chiefly to be addrefled.
At the bar, fpeakers addrefs themfelves to one, or to a few judges, who are generally perfons of age, gra- vity, and dignity of character. There, thofe advantages which a mixed and numerous aflembly affords for the rxcrcife of all the arts of eloquence, are not admiffible. Paflion does not rife fo eafily ; the fpeaker is heard with great coolnefs ; he is watched with more feverity ; and would expofe himfelf to ridicule, fliould he adopt that high and animated tone which is fuited only to a crowd- ed and mixed aiTembly. Eefide-, at the bar, the field
ELOQUENCE OP THE BAR.
of fpeaking is very limited and confined. Law and fta- tiue are the ramparts, beyond which it is not allowed to pafs. Imagination is fettered. The advocate fees before him the line, the fquare, and the compafs. Thefe, it is his chief bufinefs to be conftantly applying to the fubjeds under debate.
Hence the eloquence of the bar is of a much more limited, morefober, and chaftifed kind, than that of po- pular aflemblies ; and confequently the judicial orations of the ancients, muft not be confidered as exact models of that kind of fpeaking which is adapted to the prefent ftate of the bar. With them, ftricl law was much Icfs an object of attention than it is at prefent. In the times of Demofthenes and^Cicero, the municipal ftatutes were few, fimple, and general • 'and the decifiou of caufes was left, in a great meafure, to the equity and common fenfe of the judges. Eloquence, rather than jurifpru- dence, was the ftudy of the pleaders. Cicero informs us, that, three months ftudy would make a complete ci- vilian ; nay, it was even thought that a man might be a good pleader without any previous application. Among the Romans, there was a fet of men called Pragmatic!, whofe office it was to fupply the orator with all the law knowledge which his caufe required, and which he dii- pofed of in that popular form, and ornamented with thofe colours of eloquence, which were moft fitted for influ- encing the judges.
R 3
ELOQUENCE OF THE EAR.
It may alfo be obferved, that the civil and criminal judges, both in Greece and Rome, were ufually much more numerous than with us, and formed a kind of po- pular aflembly. The celebrated tribunal of the Areopa- gus at Athens, confifted of fifty judges at the lead. In Rome, the Judices Selefii, as they were called, were always numerous, and had the office and power of both judge and jury. In the noted caufe of Milo, Cicero fpoke to fifty one Judices Selifli ; and thus had the ad- vantage of addrrfling his whole pleading, not to one, or to a few learned judges, of the point of law, as at prefent, but to an aflembly of Roman citizens. Hence thofe arts of popular eloquence which he employed with fuch fuccefs. Hence certain practices, which would be confidered as theatrical by us, were common at the HoHiatr bar"; fuch as introducing not only the accufed perfon, drefled in deep mourning, but prefenting to the judges his family, and Ms young children, endeavour- ing to excite pity by their cries and tears.
The foundation of a lawyer's reputation and fuccefs, muft, in the prefent times, be always laid in a profound knowledge of his profeffion, If his abilities as a fpeaker be ever fo eminent, yet if his knowledge of the law be reckoned fuperficial, few will choofe to engage him in their defence. Befides previous ftudy, and an ample itock of acquired knowledge, another thing infeparable from the fuccefs of every pleader is, a diligent and pain- ful attention to every caufe with which he is entrufted,,
ELOQUENCE OB1 THE BAR. 187
fo as to be compleatly matter of all the fads and cir- cumttances with which it is comie&ed. By this mean:?, he will, in a great meafure, be prepared for the argu- ments of his opponents ; and being previoufly acquainted with the weak parts of his own caufe, he will be able to fortify them in the beft manner, againft the attacks of his adverfaries.
Though the antient popular and vehement manner of pleading be now in a great meafure fuperleded, we muft not conclude, that there is no room for eloquence at the bar, and that the ftudy of it is become fuperflnous. There is, perlvips, no fcene of public fpeaking where eloquence is more requifite The drynefs and fubtilty of the fubj<vSts ufually agitated at the bar, require, more than any other, a certain kind of expreflion, in order to command attention ; to give proper weight to the ar- guments that are employed ; and to prevent whatever the pleader advances from paffing unregarded. The «ffe6l of good fpeaking is always highly confpicuous. There is as much difference in the hnpreflion we receive from a cold, dry, and confufed fpeaker, and that made upon us by one who pleads the fame caufe with ele- gance, oider, and ftrength, as there is between our con- ception of an objeft, when viewed by the glimmering of twilight, and when bchejd by the wide effulgence of •a fummer's noon.
Purity and neatnefs of expreflion is, in this fpecies of eloquence, chiefly to be ftudied ; a ftyle perfpicuous
188 ELOGUENCE OF THE BAR.
and proper, not needleflly overcharged with the pedantry of la v terms, nor afft-r&edly avoiding thefe, when they are fuitable and requifite. Verbofity is a fault of which men of this profeflion are frequently accufed ; and into which the habit of f, eaking and writing fo hnftily, and with fo little preparation as they are often obliged to do, almoft unavoidably betrays them. It cannot, therefore, be too earneftly recommended to thofe who are begin- ning to pra&ife at the bar, that they fliould early endea- vour to guard againft this, whilft they have full leifure for preparation. Let them form themfelves to the ha- bit of a flrong and correct ftyle j which will become natural to them afterwards, when compelled by a multi- plicity of bufinefs to compofe with more precipitation. Whereas, if a loofe and negligent ftyle has been fuf- fered to become familiar, they will not be able, even upon occafions when they wifli to make an unufual ef- fort, to exprefs themfelves with force and elegance.
Diftindlnefs, in fpeaking at the bar, is peculiarly ne- eeflary. It fhould be fliewn, firft, in ftating the quef- tion ; in exhibiting clearly the point in debate ; in (hew- ing what we admit; what we deny j and where the line of divifion begins between us and the adverfe party. Next it fhould appear in the order and arrangement of all the parts of pleading. A clear method is of the higheft confequence in every fpecies of oration ; but in tbofe intricate cafes which belong to the bar, it be- comes infinitely eflential.
ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 1SQ
The narration of fafts Should always be as concife as the nature of them will admit. They are always very neceflary to be remembered, and, confequently, tedi- oufneis in relating them, and an unnecetfary minutenefs, clogs and overloads the memory. Whereas, if a pleader omit all Superfluous circumftances in his recital, he adds Strength to the material fa&s ; he gives a clearer view of what he relates, and makes the impreflion of it more lafting. In argumentation, however, a more diffufe manner feems requifite at the bar, than on fome other occafions. For, in popular atremblies, where the lubjeft of debate is commonly plain and obvious, argu- ments gain Strength by their concifenefs. But the in- tricacy of law points frequently require the arguments to be expanded, and expofed in different lights, in order to be completely apprehended.
Candour in Stating the arguments of his adverfarj cannot be too much recommended to every pleader. Should he difguife them, or place them in a falfe light, the artifice will be foon difcovered ; and the judge and the hearers will conclude, that he either wants difcern- ment to perceive, or fairnefs to admit, the Strength of his opponent's reafoning. But if he State with accu- racy and candour, the arguments ufed againft him, before he endeavours to confute them, a Strong preju- dice will prevail in his favour. He will appear to have an entire confidence in his own caufe, Since he does not attempt to fupport it by artifice and conceal-
ELOaUENCE OP THE BAR.
ment. The judge will confequently be inclined to re- ceive more readily, the impreflions made upon him by a fpeaker who appears, at the lame time, both candid and intelligent.
Wit may fometimes be ferviceable at the bar, particu- larly in a lively reply, by which ridicule may be thrown on what an adverfary has advanced. But a young pleader fhould be cautious how he admits too freely the indul- gence of this dazzling talent. His office is not to excite laughter, but to produce conviction ; nor, perhaps, ever did any one rife to eminence in his profeflion, by being a witty lawyer.
Since an advocate perforates his client, he nauft plead his caufe with a proper degree of warmth. He muft be cautious, however, of proftituting his earneftnefs and fenfibility, by an equal degree of ardour on every fubject. There is a dignity of character which it is highly important for every one of this profeflion to fupport. An opinion of probity and honour in the pleader, is his mod powerful inftrument of perfuafion. He fhould always, therefore, decline embarking in caufes which are odious and manifeftly unjuft ; and, when he fup- pbrts a doubtful caufe, he Ihould lay the chief ftrefs upon the arguments which appear to his judgment the mvft. forcible ; referving his zenl and indignation for 'cafes where rnjuftice and iniquity are notorious.
ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
H.
-AVING already treated of the eloquence of popu- lar afiemblies, and of that of the bar, we fliall now consider the ftrain and fpirit of that eloquence which is fuited to the pulpit. This field of public fpcaking has, evidently feveral advantages peculiar to itfelf. The dignity and importance of its fubjecls mud be allowed to be fuperior to any other. They admit of the higheft embellithments in defcription, and the greateft warmth and vehemence of expreffion. In treating his lubjeft, the preacher has alfo peculiar advantages. He fpeaks not to one or a few judges, but to a numerous aflembly. He is not afraid of interruption. He chufes his fubject at leifure ; and has all the affiftance which the moft accurate premeditation can afford him. The difadvan- tages, however, which attend the eloquence of the pulpit, are by no means inconfiderable. The preacher, it is true, has no contention with an adverfary ; but de- bate awakens genius, and excites attention. His fub- jecls, though noble, are trite and common. They are become fo familiar to the public ear, that it requires no ordinary genius in the preacher, to fix the attention of his heaters. Nothing is more difficult, than to beftow fen what is common, the grace of novelty. Be/ides,
3Q2 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
the fubjed of the preacher ufually confines him to ab- ftract qualities, to virtues and vices j whereas, tliat of other popular fpeakers leads them to treat of perfons j which is a fubjecl: generally more interefting to the hearers, and which occupies more powerfully the ima- gination. We are taught by the preacher to deteft only the crime; by the pleader to deteft the criminal. Hence it happens, that though the number of mode- rately good preachers is great, there are fo few who have arrived at eminence. Perfection is very diftant indeed, from modern preaching. The object, however, is truly noble and illuftrious ; and worthy of being purfued with attention, ardour, and perfeverance.
To excel in preaching, it is neceffary to have a fixed and habitual view of its end and objecl. This, un- doubtedly, is to perfuade men to become good. Every fermon ought, confequently, to be a peri'uafive oration. It is not to diicufs fome abftrufe point, that the preacher afcends the pulpit. It is not to teach his hearers fome- thing new, but to make them better ; to give them at the fame time, clear views, and perfuafive impreiTions of religious truth.
The principal characteriftics of pulpit eloquence, as diftinguifhed from the other kinds of public fpeaking, appear to be thefe two — gravity and warmth. It is neither eafy nor common to unite thefe characters of eloquence. The grave, when it is too predominant, becomes a dull, uniform folemnity. The warm, when
BLOatENCE OF THE PULPIT. 1Q3
it wants gravity, approaches too near the theatrical and light. A proper union of the two, forms that character of preaching which the French call Qnfi'ion; that affect- ing, penetrating, and intercfling manner, flowing from a ftrong fenfe in the preacher, of the importance of thofe truths which he delivers, and an earn eft defire that they may make full impreffion on the hearts of hi* hearers.
With regard to the competition of a fermon, a prin- cipal circumfiance which muft be attended to, is i's unity. By this we mean, that there fliould be fome main-point to which the whole tenonr of the fennon mall refer. It muft not be a pile of different fubjects heaped upon each other, but one object mull predomi- nate through the whole. Hence, however, it muft not be underftood, that there mould be no divifions or fe- parate heads in the difeourfe ; or that one fingle thought only fhould be exhibited in different points of view. Unity is not confined to fuch narrow limits ; it admits of fome variety ; it requires only that union and con nection be fo far preferved, a- to make the whole con- cur in fome one impreffion on the mind. Thus, for inftance, a preacher may employ frvrral different argu- ments to enforce the love of" Goc! ; he may alfo enquire into the caufes of the decay of this virtue; ftill one great object is prefented to the mind : But, if becaufe his text lays, " He that loveth God, muft love his brother alfo," S
ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
he iliould therefore mix in the lame dilcourfe argu- ments for the love of God, and for the love of our neighbour, he would offend very much aga-nft unity, and leave a very confuied impreffion on the minds of hia hearers.
Sermons arc always the more ftriking, and generally the more ufeful, in proportion as the fubjeft of them is more precife and particular. Unity can never be fo com- plete in a general, as in a particular fubje&. General fubjeCls, indeed, Inch as the excellencies or the plea- fures of religion, are often chofen by young preachers as rl:r. moft ihowy, and the ealieft to be handled ; and no doubt general views of religion fhoulct not be neg- lected, fince on feveral occaficns they have great pro- priety. But thefe fubjecls produce not the high effe&s of preaching. Attention is much more commanded, by taking fome particular view of a great object, and em- ploying on that the whole force of argument and elo- quence. To recommend fome one virtue, or inveigh againft a particular vice, affords a fubjedl not deficient in unity or precifion ; but if that virtue or vice be con- fidered as affuming a particular afpeft, as it appears in certain characters, or affeSs certain fituations in life, the fubjeth becomes flill more interefting. The execution is certainly lefs ealy, but the merit and the effeft are higher.
A preacher mould be cautious not to exhauft his fub- je£t j fince nothing is more oppofite to perfuafion than
ELOQUENCE OF THE "PULPIT.
an unneceifary and tedious fulnefs. There are always fome things which he may fuppofe to be known, and fome which require only n brief attention. If he en- deavour to omit nothing which his fubjeft fuggefts, he muft unavoidably encnrnl)er it, and debilitate its force.
To render his inftru&ious iiiterefting to his hearers, fhould be the grand objedt bf every preacher. He fhould bring home to their hearts the truths which he incul- cates, and make each fuppofe that himfelf is particu- larly addrefled. He fhould, confequently, avoid all in- tricate reafonings ; avoid exprefiing himfelf in general fpeculative propositions ; or laying down practical truths in an abftraft, metaphyfical manner. A dif- courfe ought to be carried on in the ftrain of direct addrefs to the audience : not in the ftrain of one writing an cflay, but of one fpeaking to a multitude, and ftudy- ing to connect what is called application, or what im- mediately refers to practice, with the do6lrinal and di- da&ic parts of the fcrmon.
It is always highly advantageous to keep in view the different ages, characters, and conditions of men, and to accommodate directions and exhortations to each of thele different clafles. Whenever you advance what a man feels to touch his own character, or to be appli- cable to his own circumftances, you are fure of his at- tention. No ftudy, therefore, is more necefiary for a preacher, than the ftudy of human life, and of the hu- S 2
ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
man heart. To be able to difcover a man to himfelf, in a light in which he never law his own character be- fore, produces a wonderful e fifed. Thole fermons,. though the moft difficult in composition, are not only the moft beautiful, but allb the rnoft ufeful, which are founded on the illuftration of. fome peculiar cha- racter, or remarkable piece of hiftory, in the facred writings j by the purfuit of which, we may trace, and lay open, fome of the moft fecret windings of the hu- man heart. Other topics of preaching have become trite and common ; but this is an ex ten five field, which has hitherto been little explored, and poffefles, all the advantages of being curious, new, and in the higheft degree ufeful. Bifhop Butler's fermon on the cbara&er of Balaam, is an example of this kind of preaching.
Fafliion, which operates fo extenfively on human manners, has given to preaching, at different times, a change of character. This, however, is a torrent, which fwells to-day and lubfides to-morrow. Sometimes po- etical preaching is fafhionable j fometimes philofophi- cal: At one time it muft be all pathetic j at another all argumentative j according a^ fome celebrated preacher has afforded the example. Each of thefe modes in the extreme, is very defective j and he who conforms him- lelf to it, will both confine his genius, and corrupt it. Truth and good fenfe are the only bafis on which he can build with fafety. Mode and humour are feeble and.
ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 1 Q7
tmfteady. No example, however admired, fhould be fervilely imitated. From various examples, the preacher nny colleft materials for improvement ; but the fervi- lity of imitation will extinguifh his genius, and expof« its poverty to his hearers.
s s
i OXDUCT OF A DISCOURSE IN ALL ITS PARTS — INTRODUCTION-DIVISION— NARRA- TION AND EXPLICATION.
JLAAVING already confidered what is peculiar to the three great fields of public fpeaking; popular afTem- blies, the bar, and the pulpit ; we fhall now treat of what is common to them all; and explain the condu6l of a difcourfe, or oration, in general.
The parts which compofe a regular formal oration, are thefe fix ; the exordium or introdu&ion ; the iiate and the divifion of the fubjecT: j narration or explica- tion ; the reafoning or arguments ; the pathetic part; the conclusion. It is not neceflary that thefe muft en- ter into every public difcourle, or that they muft always be admitted in the order which we have mentioned. There are many excellent difcourfes, in which fome of thefe parts are altogether omitted. But as they are the natural and constituent parts of a regular oration, and as, in every difcourfe, fome, of them muft occur, it is agreeable to our prefent purpofe, to examine each of them diftinclly.
The defign of the introduction is to conciliate the good opinion of the hearers ; to excite their attention 3
INTRODUCTION-.
and" lo render them open to perfuafion. When a Speaker is previouilv iVrure of the good will, the atten- tion, and the docility of his audience, a formal introduc- tion may, without an/ impropriety, be omitted. Ref- pect for his hearers will, in that cafe, only require a ihort exordium, to prepare them for the other parts of his difcourfe.
The introduction, where it is necefTary, is that part ef a difcourfe which requires no inferior care. It is al- ways important to begin well ; to make a favourable impreflion at firft fetting out, when the minds of the hearers, as, yet vacant and free, are more eafily preju- diced in favour of the fpeaker. We muft add alfo, that a good introduction is frequently found to be extremely difficult. Few parts of a difcourfe give more trouble to the compofer, or require more delicacy in the execution.
An introduction fhould be eafy and natural. It jfliould always be fuggefted by the fubjecT:. The writer mould not plan it till after he has meditated in his own mind the fubftance of his difcourfe. By taking an op* polite courfe, and compofing in the firft place au intro- duction, the writer will often find, that he is either led to lay hold of fome common-place topic, or that, in- ftead of the introduction being accomodated to the dif- courfe, he is under the necefiity of accomodating the whole difcourfe to the introduction which he bad pre- vioufly written.
200 INTRODUCTION.
In this part of a difconrfe, correftnefs of expreflion fhould be carefully ftudied This is peculiarly requi- fite on account of the fituation of the hearers. At the beginning, they are more difpofed to criticife than at any other period ; they are then unoccupied with the fubje6t or the arguments ; their attention is entirely di- refted to the fpeaker's ftyle and manner. Care, there- fore, is requifite, to prepoflefs them in his favour j though too much art muft be cautioufly avoided, fince it will then be more eafily detedted, and will derogate from that perfuafion which the other parts of the dif- courfe are intended to produce.
Modefty is alfo an indifpenfible chara&eriftic.of every judicious introdu&ion. If the fpeaker begins with an air of arrogance and oflentation, the felf-love and pride of his hearers will be prefently awakened, and will follow him with a very fufpicious eye through the reft of his difcourfe. His modefly fliould appear not only in his expreflions, but in his whole manner ; in his looks, in his geftures, and in the modulation of his voice. Every audience k flattered by thofe marks of refpecl: and awe which are paid them by the perfon who addr-eiles them. The modefty, however, of an introduction, fliould be- tray nothing mean or abjeft. Together with modefty and deference to his hearers, the orator fliould fhew a certain fenfe of dignity, arifing from a perfuafion of the juftice or importance of the fubjecl; on which he is to fpeak.
INTRODUCTION'. 2Oi
Except in particular cafes, the orator fhould not put forth all his ftrength at the beginning; but fhould rife an.l s>r>w upon bis hearers as his difcourfe advances. The introduction is feldom the place for vehemence and pafiion. The audience .mnfr be gradually prepared;, before the fpeaker can venture on ftrong and empaffioned fentiments. Yet when the f inject is of fucb a nature, that the very mention of it naturally awakens fome paf- fionate emotion; or when the unexpected prefence of fome perfon or object, in a popular afiembly, inflames the fpeaker; either of thefe will juftify an abrupt and vehement exordium. Thus the appearance of Catiline in the Roman Senate', renders the violent opening of Cicero's firft oration againft him very natural and pro- per. " Quoufque tandem, Catilina, abutere patientia " noftra ?" And Bifhop Atterbury, in preaching' from this text, " Blefied is he whofoever {hall not be offended " in me,rt ventures on thi-, bold exordium : " And can " any man then, he offended in thee, blefled Jefus ?'* Which addrefs to our Saviour he continues for fome time, till he enters on the divifion of his fubjed. But thefe introductions ihould be attempted by very few, iincc they promife fo much vehemence and ardour through the reft of the dif. ourfe, that it is extremely diffi- cult tofatisfythe expectation of the hearers.
An introdu6Hon fhou'.-J not anticipate any material part of the fubject. When topics or arguments which are afterwards to be enlarged upon, are hinted at, and in
202 DIVISION-.
part exMHted in the introduclion, they Ibfe upon their fecond ap -earance, the grace of novelty. The impref- Jfion intended to be made by any principal idea, is always made with the greateft advantage, when it is made entire, and in its proper place.
The laft circumftance which we fhall obferve with re- gard to an introdu&ioD, is, that it be proportioned both in length and in kind to the difcourfe which fol- lows it : In length, fince nothing would be more ab- furd than to erecl; an extenfive portico before a diminu- tive building} and in kind, fince it would be no lefs ridiculous to load with glittering ornaments the veftibule of a plain dwelling-houfe ; or to make the approach to a monument as gay and lively as that to an arbour.
After the introduclion, what generally fucceeds next in order, is, the propofition or enunciation of the fubject ; concerning which we {hall only obferve, that it fhouldbe as clear and diftin6t as poflible, and exprefied without aflfeftation, in the moft concife and fimple manner. To this commonly fucceeds the diviflon, or the laying down the method of the difconrfe ; in the management of vhich, the following rules (houldbe carefully attended to.
Firft, That the parts into which the fubject is divided, be really diftin<5t from each other j that is, that no one include another. It were a ridiculous divifion, for ex- ample, if a fpeaker (hould propofe to explain firft the advantages of virtue,, and next, thole of juftice or terr.-<
DIVISION. 203
pcrance ; bccaufe the fit ft head plainly comprehends the fecund, as a genus dots the fpecies Such a me- thod of proceeding will, therefore, involve the fubjecl in indiiVmclnefs and ditbrder.
Secondly, We muft be careful always to follow the or- der of nature; beginning with the moft finable points, fuch as are moft eafily under ft ood, and uece.llary to be firft diicufled; and proceeding thence to thofc wl.ich are built xipon the former, and which fuppofe them to be known. The fubje£t, in fine, muft be divided into thofe parts into which it is moft eafily and naturally refolved.
Thirdly, The members of adivifion ought to exhauft the fubjecl:, othenvife the divifion is incomplete; the fubje& is exhibited by pieces and corners only, without any plan being offered by which the whole may be dif- played.
Fourthly, Let concifenefs and precifion be peculiarly ftudied. A divifion will always appear to the moft ad- vantage, when the feveral ru-ads are expreifed in the cleareft, moft forcible, and at the fame time, the feweft words poilible. This never fails to make an ;igree.;!ble impreflion on the hearers ; and contributes alfo to make the diviiions more eafily remembered.
Hfthly, An unneceflary multiplication of heads fhould be cautioufly avoided. To divide a fuhjeft into a great many minute p.rts, by cndlefs divifions and
204 NARRATION OR EXPLICATION.
and fabdivrfibns, produces always a bad effecl in fpeak- ing. In a logical treatile this may not be impro er; but it renders an oration hard and dry, and unneceflarily fatigues the memory. A fermon may admit from three to five, or fix beads, including fubdivifions; feldom arc more allowable.
The next conftituent part of a difcourfe, which we mentioned, was narration or explication. Thefe two are joined together, both becaufe they fall nearly under me fame rules, and becaufe they generally anfwer the fame purpofe ; ferving to ilkiftrate the caufe, or the fubjecl: of which one treats, before proceeding to argue either on one fide or the other, 01 to entlcaiour to in- tereft the paflions of the hearers.
To be clear and diftinct, to be probable, and to be concife, are the qualities which critics chiefly confider as efiential to narration. Diftinclnefs is reqnifite to the whole of the difcourfe, but belongs efpecially to narration, which ought to throw a light on all that follows. At the bar, a fact, or a fingle circumftance, left in obfcurity, or mifundi-:rftood by the judge, may deftroy the efFecl: oi all the argument and reafoning which the pleader em loys. If his narration be im- probable, it will be difregardecl ; if it be ttdious <nnd diffufe^ it will fatigue, and be forgotten. To render narration diftinft, a particular attention is requifite in afcertainiug clearly the names, the dates, the places, and every other important circumftance of the fadls re-
NARRATION OR EXPLICATION. 2O5
counted. In order to be probable in narration, it is ne- ceilary to exhibit the characters of thofe perfons of whom we fpeak, and to (hew that their actions proceed from fuch motives as are natural, and likely to gain belief. To be as concife as the fubject will admit, all fuperfluous circumftances mull be rejected, by which the narration will be rendered bo'Ji more forcible and more clear.
In fermons, explication of the fubject to be difcourfed on, occupies the place of narration at the bar, and is to be conducted in a fimilar manner. It muft be con- cife, clear, and diftinct ; in a ftyle correct and elegant, rather than abounding with ornament. To explain the doctrine of the text with propriety ; to give a full and clear account of the nature of that virtue or duty which forms the fubject of the difcourfe, is properly the di- dactic part of preaching ; on the right execution of which much depends, for what comes afterwards in the way of perfuafion. In order to fucceed, the preacher muft meditate profoundly on the fubjeft, fo as to place it in a clear and ftriking point of view. He mull con- fider what light it may derive from other paffages of fcripture ; oblerve whether it be a fubjecl nearly allied to fome other from which it ought to be diiiinguiihed ; whether it can be advantageously illullrated by com- paring, or oppoting it to fome other thing ; by fearch- i:ig into caufes, or tracing effects j by pointing out ex- T
20(5 NARRATION OH EXPLICATION.
amples, or appealing to the hearts of the hearers ; that thus a determined, precife, and circumftantial view, may be afforded of the doctrine to be inculcated. By fuch diftin6t and apt illuflrations of the known truths of religion, a preacher may both difplay great merit as a compofer, and, what is infinitely more valuable, render his difconrfes weighty, iuftru&ive, and beneficial.
THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART OF A DISCOURSE —THE PATHETIC PART— THE PERORATION.
s
IXCE the great end for winch men fpeak on any fcrious occanon, is to convince their hearers that fome- thing is either true, or right, or good; and confequently to influence their practice ; reafon and argument muft constitute the foundation of all manly and perfuafive eloquence.
With regard to arguments, three things are neceffary te be obferved: Firft, the invention of them ; fecondly, their proper difpofition and arrangement; and thirdly, the exprelfing them in the moft forcible ftyle and man- ner. Invention is, undoubtedly, the mofl material, and the bails of the reft. But in this, art can afford only fmall affiflance. It can aid a fpeaker, however, in arranging and exprefling thofe arguments which his knowledge of the fubject has difcovered.
Supposing the arguments properly chofen, we muft avoid blending thofe confufedly together, that are of a feparate nature. All arguments whatever, are intended to prove one of thefe three things; that fomething is true ; that it is right or fit ; or that it is profitable and 12
208 THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART
good. Truth, duty and intereft, are the three great fubjects of difcuflion among mankind. But the argu- ments employed upon either of them are generic-ally diftinft; and he who mixes them all under one topic, which he calls his argument, as in fermons is too fre- quently done, \vilJ render his reafoning indiftinft and inelegant.
"With refpecl to the different degrees of ftrength in arguments, the common rule is to advance in the way of climax, from the weakeft to the moft forcible. This method is to be recommended, when the fpeaker is convinced that his cauie is clear, and eafy to be proved. Eut this rule muft not be univerfally obferved, If he be apprehenfive of his caufe, and has but one material argument on which to lay the ftrefs, putting lefs con- fidence in the reft, in this cafe it is often proper to place his moft forcible argument in the front ; to pre- judice his hearers as early as poflible in his favour, and difpofe them to pay attention to the weaker reafon- ing which he may afterwards introduce. When, cimidft a variety of arguments, there is one or two more feeble than the reft, though proper to be ufed, Cicero advifes that they be placed in the middle, as a fituatio'n lefs confpicuous than either the beginning or the end of the train of reafoning.
"When arguments are ftrong and falisfaftory, the more diftant they are feparated, the better. Each can then bear to be introduced alcne, placed in its full light.,
OP A DISCOURSE.
amplified and contemplated. But when they are of a doubtful or prefumptive nature, it isfafer to crowd them together, to form them into a phalanx, that though, in- dividually weak, they may mutually fupport each other.
Arguments fhould never be extended too far, or multiplied too much. This ferves rather to render a en ufe fufpicious, than to increafe its ttrength. A need- lefs multiplicity of arguments, both opprefies the me- mory and diminifhes the weight of that conviction, which a few well-chofen arguments might not fail to produce. To expand them alfo, beyond the bounds of reafonable illuftration, is always enfeebling. When a fpeaker endeavours to expofe a favourable argument in every pofiible point of view, it generally happens, that, fatigued with the effort, he lofes the fpirit with which he fet out, and ends with feeblenefs what he began with force.
Having attended thus far to the proper arrangement of arguments, we proceed to another efiential part of a difcourfe, the pathetic ; in which, if any where, elo- quence reigns, and exerts its power. On this head we {hall offer the following directions, which appear worthy of being remembered.
To confider carefully, whether the fubject admit the pathetic, and render it proper ; and if it does, what part of the difcourfe is the moft fit for its admiffion. In de-
T 3
21O THE PATHETIC PART
termining thele points, good fenfe is the only juft crite- rion. Many fubje&s admit not the pathetic at all, ami even in thofe tliat are fufceptible of it, an attempt to excite the paffions in the wrong place, may expofe the orator to ridicule, ft may in general be obferved, that if we expect any emotion which we raife to have a lafting effect, we mull fecure in our favour the under- ftanding and judgment. The hearers mud be fatisfied,. that there are fufficient grounds for their engaging in the caufe with zeal and ardour. When argument and reafoning have produced their full effect, the pathetic is admitted with the greateft force and propriety.
A fpeaker mould cautioufly avoid giving his hearers warning that he intends to excite their paffions. Every previous preparation of this kind chills their fenfibility. There is alfo a material difference between lliewing mankind that they ought to be moved, and actually ex- citing their paffions. To every enaction or paffien, na- ture has adapted certain correfponding objects ; and without fetting thefe before the mind, it is impoffible for an orator to excite that emotion. We are warmed with gratitude, we are touched with compaffion, not when a fpeaker {hews us that thefe are noble diipofi- tions, and that it is our duty to feel them, or when he exclaims againft us for our indifference and coldnefs. He is hitherto addreffing only our realbn or conscience. He muft paint to us the kindnefs and tendernefs of our friend j he muft exhibit the diftrefs fuffered by the
OF A DISCOURSE. 211
perfon- for whom- he would intercft us ; then, and not till then, our hearts begin to be touched, our gratitude or our compaffion begin to flow. The bafis, therefore, of all fuccefsful execution in pathetic oratory, is, to paint the objed of that paflion which we defive to raifc, in (.he moft natural and ftriking manner ; to defcribe it with fuch circumftances as are likely to awaken it in the minds of others.
To fucceed in the pathetic, it is neceffary to attend1 to the proper language of the paffions. This, if we confult nature, we fhdl ever find is unaffected and fimple. It may be animated with bold and ftrong figures, but it will have no ornament of finery. There is a material difference between painting to the imagi- nation, and to the heart. The one may be done with deliberation and coolnefs ; the other muft always be rapid and ardent. In the former, art and labour may be fuffered to appear ; in the latter, no proper effect can be produced, unlefs it feem to be the work of nature only. Hence all digreffions fhould be avoided, which may interrupt or turn afide the fwell of paflion. Hence comparifons are always dangerous, and commonly quite improper in the midft of the pathetic. It is alfo to be obferved, that emotions which are violent cannot be lafting. The pathetic, therefore, mould not be pro- longed and extended too much. A due regard fhould always be preserved to what the audience will bearj for he that attempts to carry them farther in paffiorj.
212 THE PERORATION.
than th^y will follow him, annihilates his purpofe. Ey. endea\ouring to warm them in the extreme, he takes the fureft method of freezing them completely.
Concerning the peroration or conclufion of a difcourfe , a fevv' words will be fufficient. Sometimes the whole pathetic part comes in moft properly at the conclufion. Sometimes, when the difcourfe has been altogether ar- gumentative, it is proper to conclude with fumming up the arguments, placing them in one point of view, and leaving the impreflion of them, full and ftrong, on the minds of the hearers. For the principal rule of a con- clufion, and what nature obvioully fuggefts, is, to place that laft, on which we chufe that the ftrength of our caufe ihould reft.
In every kind of public fpeaking, it is important to hit the precife time of concluding, fo as to bring the dif- courfe juft to a point ; neither ending abruptly and un- expectedly, nor difappointing the expectation of the hearers, when they look for the difcourfe being finifhed. The clofe fliould always be concluded with dignity and fpirit, that the minds of the hearers may be left warm, and that they may depart with a favourable impreflion of the fubjed and of the fpeaker.
PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY.
TT
JL HE great obje&s to which every public fpeaker fiiould direft his attention, in forming his delivery, are, Firlt, to fpeak Ib as to be fully and eanly underftoodby his hearers ; and next, to exprefs himfelf with fuch grace and energy, as to pleate and to move them.
To be fully and eafily underflood, the chief requisites are, a due degree of loudnefs of voice, diftindnefs, flownefs, and propriety of pronunciation.
To be heard is undoubtedly thejirft requifite. The fpeaker muft endeavour to fill with his voice, the fpace occupied by the aflembly. Though this power of voice is, in a great meafure, a natural talent, it may receive confiderable afllftance from art. Much depends on the proper pitch and management of the voice. This maj be diftinguii'hed by three gradations ; the high, the mid- dle, and the low one. The high is ufedin calling aloud to fome one at a di fiance : The low approaches to a whifper. The middle is that which is employed in common converfation, and which fiiould generally be ufed in public fpeaking : For it is erroneous to fuppoie, that the higheft pitch of the voice is requifite to be well heard by a great aflembly. This is confounding two
214 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERT,
things materially different, loudnefs, or ftrength of found, with the key or note of which we fpeak. The voice may be rendered louder without altering the key ; and the fpeaker will always be able to give moft body, moft perfevering force of found, to that pitch of voice to which in converfation he is aecuftomed. Whereas, if he begin on the higheft pitch of his voice, he will fatigue himfelf, and fpeak with pain ; and whenever a man fpeaks with pain to himfelf, he is always heard with pain by his audience. To the voice, therefore, may be given full ftrength and fwell of found ; but It fhould always be pitched on the ordinary fpeaking key; a greater quantity of voice fliould never be uttered than can be afforded without pain, and without any extraor- dinary effort. To be well heard, it is ufeful for a fpeaker to fix his eye on forne of the moft diftant per- ibns in the affembly, and to coniider himfelf as fpeak- ing to them. We naturally and mechanically exprefs our words with fuch a degree of ftrength, as to be heard by one to whom we addrefs ourfelves, provided he be fituated within the reach of our voice. This will be the cafe in public fpeaking, as well as in common conver- fation. But it muft be remembered, .that fpeaking too loud is peculiarly offenfive. The ear is wounded when the voice comes upon it in rumbling, indiftin6t maffes ; belides, it appears as if aifent were demanded by mere vehemence and force of found.
To being well heard and clearly underftood, diftinft-
PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 215
nefs of articulation is more conducive, perhaps, than mere loudnefs of found. The quantity of found requi- fite to fill even a large fpace, is lefs than is generally fuppofedj and with diftinft articulation, a man of a weak voice will make it extend farther than the ftrong- cft voice can reach without it. This, therefore, de- mands peculiar attention. The fpeaker muft give every found which he utters its due proportion, and make every fyllable, and even every letter, be heard diftinctly. To fucceed in this, a rapidity of pronunciation muft be avoided. A lifelefs, drawling method is, however, by no means to be adopted. To pronounce with a proper degree of flownefs, and with full and clear articulation, cannot be too induftrioufly ftudied, or too earneftly re- commended. Such a pronunciation gives weight and dignity to language. It aflifts the voice, by the paufes and refts which it permits it more eafily to make ; and enables the fpeaker to fwell all his founds, both with more energy and more mufic. He may, by this means, preferve a due command over himfelf, and avoid that flutter of fpirits produced by a rapid and hurried manner, which is deftru&ive to all jufl and finifhed oratory.
To propriety of pronunciation, nothing is more con- ducive than an attentive care in giving to every word which we utter, that found which themoft polite ufage of the language appropriates to it, in opposition to broad, vulgar, or provincial pronunciation. On this fubje<5t.
2l6 PRONUNCIATION OR. DELIVERY.
however, written inftrutlions will avail nothing. But there is one obfervation which it may be ufeful to make : In our language, every word of more fyllables than one, has one accented fyllable. The genius of the languages requires the voice to mark that fyllable by a ftronger percuilion, and to pafs more flightly over the reft. The fame accent fhould be given to every word in public fpeaking as in common difcourfe. In this refpecl many perfons are apt to err. When they fpeak in public, and with folemnity, they pronounce differently from what they do at other times. They dwell upon fyllables, and protract them ; they multiply accents on the fame word, from a falfe idea, that it gives gravity and ftrength to their difcourfe, and increafes the pomp of public decla- mation. But this is one of the greater! faults which can be committed in pronunciation ; it constitutes what is termed a theatrical or mouthing manner, and gives an artificial, affeded air to fpeech, which detracts, in a great degree, from its agreeablenefs and its im- prefiion.
We fhall now mention thofe higher parts of delivery, by ftudying which, a fpeaker endeavours not merely to render himfelf intelligible, but to give grace and force to what he utters. Thefe may be comprehended under four heads ; emphafis, paufes, tones and geftures.
By emphafis is meant, a fuller and ftronger found of voice, by which we diftinguilh the accented fyllable of forae word on which we intend to lay a particular
PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 21/
tfrefs, and to fliew how it affeds the reft of the icn- tenee. To acquire the proper management of the em- phafis, the principal, and indeed the only rule which can be given is, that the fpeaker rtudy to acquire a juii conception of the force and fpirit of thofe fentiments which he intends to deliver. In all prepared difcourfes, it would be extremely ufeful, if they were read over or repeated in private, with a view of fearching tor the proper emphafis, before they were pronounced in public ; marking, at the fame time, the emphatical words ia every fentence, or at leafl in the moft important parts of the difcourfe, and fixing them well in memory. A caution, however, muft at the fame time be given, againft multiplying the emphatical words too much. They only become ftriking, when ufed with a prudent referve. If they recur too frequently ; if a fpeaker en- deavours to render every thing which he fays of high importance, by a multitude of ilrong emphafes, they will foon fail to excite the attention of his hearers.
Next to emphafis, paufcs demand attention : They are of two kinds ; firft, emphatical panics 5 and fecondly^ fuch as mark the ciiftincuoas of fenfe. An emphatical paufe is made, after fomeihing has been laid of peculiar moment, and on which we want to ilx the hearer's at- tention. Sometimes a matter of importance is preceded by a paule of this nature. Such panics have; t!:c f.n.c ciiecl: as ftrong emphafes, and are fubject lo the fame
u
218 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY.
rules; particularly to the caution juft now given, of net repeating them too frequently. For lince they excite particular attention, and confequemly raile expectation, if this be not fully anfwered, they will occasion difap- pointment and difguft.
But the mofr common, and the principal ufe of paufes, is to mark the divisions of the fenfe, and at the lame time to permit the fpeaker to draw his breath : and the jv.it and graceful management of fuch paufes, is one of the moft delicate and difficult articles in deli- A proper command of the breath is peculiarly requifite to be acquired. To obtain this, every fpeaker fnould be very careful to provide a full fupply of breath lor what he is to utter. It is a great miftake to fup- pofe, that the breath muft be drawn only at the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may be gathered at the intervals of a fentence, when the voice luffers only a momentary fufpenfionj and hence afuff.ci- cnt fupply may be obtained for carrying on the longeft period, without improper interruptions.
Paufes in public difcourfe, muft be formed upon the manner in which we exprefs ourfelves in common, fen- iible converfation, and not upon the ftiff artificial man- ner which \ve acquire from perufing books, according to the common punctuation. The general method of punctuation is very arbitrary ; often ca riciou* and falfe; and dictates an uniformity of tone in the paufes, which is extremely un^'enfing : For it muft be obferved, that
PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. '
to make paufes graceful and expretfive, they nmft not only fall in the right places, but he accompanied by a proper tone of voice ; by which the nature of thefe paufes is intimated, much more than by their length, which can never be predfely meafured. Sometimes it is only a flight and fimple fufpenfion of the voice which is proper ; ibmetimes, a degree of cadence is requithe ; and fometimes that peculiar tone and cadence, which marks the conclusion of the fentence. In all thefe cafes, a fpeaker is to regulate himfelf by attending to the man- ner in which nature teaches him tofpeak, when engaged in real and earned difcourfe with others.
In reading or reciting verfes, there is a difficulty in making the paufes with propriety. There are two kinds of paufes which belong to the mafic of verfe j one. at the end of the line, and the other in the middle of it. Rhyme always renders the former fenfible, and compels an obfervance of it in the pronunciation. In blank verfe it is lefs perceivable ; and when there is no fufpenfion in the fenfe, it has been doubted, whether in reading it with propriety, any regard mould be paid to the clofe of a line ? On the ftage, indeed, where the appearance of freaking in verfe ihould be avoided, the clofe of fuch lines as make no paufe in the fenfe, {hould not be rendered perceptible to the ear. On other occ fions, it were better for the fake of melody, to read blank verfe hj'fuch a manner as to make each line fcn- U 2
220 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY.
tibly diftinci. In attempting this, however, every ap- pearance of fmg-ibrg and tone muft be cautioully a voided. The dole of the line, where there i panic in the meaning, ihould be marked only by fuch a flight fufpcnfiou of found, as may diftinguifli the •_c from one line to anoilier, without injuring the kerne.
The paufe in the middle of the line falls after the 4th, 5th, 6th, or 7th fyllables, and no other. When it happens that this paufe coincides with the flighted diufioa in the fenfe, the line can be read with eafej a& in the two firft verfes of Pope's Mefliah ;
Ye nymph'i of Solymal begin the Cong;
To heavenly themes, lubiimar ftvains belong.
But if it happen' that word? which have fuch an in- timate connexion as not to admit even a momentary fe- paration, be di\ ided from each other by this paufe in the middle of the verfe,, we then perceive a conflict between the fenfe aud the found, which renders it difficult to read fuch lines with grace and harmony. In fuch cafe* it is always better to lacrifice found to fenfe. Thus, for inftance,. in the following line of Milton ;
i ,, u*!iat m m; is dark,
l!l..;in!.ic ; what is low, raifc ar:d fuppoit.
The fenfe evidently diSates the paufe after " illumine^ •which ought to be obferved ; though if the melody only were to. be regarded, " illumine" ihould be con-
PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 22J
nefted with what follows, and no paufe made till after the 4th or 6th fyllable. So alfo in the following line of Pope's Epiille to Arbuthnot :
I fit ; with fad civility I lead.
The ear points out the paufe as falling after " fad, " the fourth fyllable. But to feparate " fad" and " civi- " lity," would be very injudicious reading. The fenfe allows no other paufe than after the fecond fyllable, " fit," which therefore is the only one that ought to be obferved.
We proceed next to treat of tones in pronunciation, which are different both from emphafis and pauies ; confirming in the modulation of the voice, the notes or variation of found which are employed in public fpeaking. The moft material inftruftion which can be given on this fubject is, to form the tones of public fpeaking upon the tones of fenlible and animated con- verfation. Every one who is engaged in fpeaking on a fubject which interefts him nearly, has an eloquent and perfuafive tone and manner. But when a fpeaker de- parts from his natural tone of expreffion, he is fure to render his difcourfe frigid and unperfuafive. Nothing is more abfurd than to fuppofe, that as foon as a fpeaker afcends a pulpit, or rifes in a public affembly, he is im- mediately to lay afide the voice with which he exprefies himfelf in private, and to aflame a new, ftudied tone, and a cadence altogether different from his natural U 3
PKOXUXCIATIO.NT OR DELIVERY".
manner. This has vitiated all deliver)'-, and has given rile to cant and tedious monotony. Let every public fpeaker be prepared againft this error. Whether he fpeak in private or in a great aflembly, let him not for- get that he ftill fpeaks. Let him take nature for hia guide, and flie will teach him toexprefs his fcatiments and feelings in fuch a manner, as to make the moft forcible and pleafing imprefllon upon the minds of his hearers.
It now remains for us to treat of gefture, or what is called a&ion, in public difcourfe. The beft rule is, to recommend attention to the looks and gefture, in which earneftnefs, indignation, compaflion, or any other emo- tion, difcovers itfelf to moft advantage in the common mtercourfe of men ; and let tliefe be the model for imita- tion. A public fpeaker muft, however, adopt that manner which is moft natural to himfelf. His motions and geftures ought all to exhibit that kind of exprellion which nature has dictated to him j and mil els this be the cafe, no ftudy can prevent their appearing ftifi'and ungraceful. But though nature be the bafis on -which every grace in gefture and action muft be founded, yet the ornamental improvements which art can fupply, muft not be neglected. The ftudy of a&ion confifts chiefly in guarding againft awkward and difagrecable motions, and in learning to perform fuch as are natural to the fpeaker, in the moft graceful manner. Nume- rous are the rules which writers have laid down for the
PROKUNCIATIOX Oil DELIVERY. 223
attainment of a proper gefticulation. But ir is to be- feared, that written inftrudions on this fubjed can be of Tittle fervice. To become ufeful, they mutt be well exemplified. A few of the fimpleft precepts, however, may be attended to with advantage. Thus, every ipeaker fhould ftudy to preferve as much dignity as poftible in the whole attitude of his body. He fhould generally prefer an erecl poilure ; his pofition fhould be firm, fo as to have the fulleft and freeil command of all his motions; If any inclination be ufed, it fhould be forward towards the hearers, which is a natural expref- lion of earneilnefs. The countenance fhould correfpond with the nature of the difcourfe ; and when no particular emotion is exprefled, a ferious and manly look is always to be preferred. The eyes fhouki never be fixed entirely on any one objecT:, but move eafily round die audience. In the motions made with the hands, confifts the prin- cipal part of gefturein fpeaking. It is natural that the right hand fhould be employed more frequently than the left. Warm emotions require the exerciie of them both together. But whether a fpeaker gesticulates with one or with both his hands, it is an important rule, that all his motions fliould be eafy and unreflrained. Narrow and confined movements are ufually ungrace- ful ; and confequently motions made with the hands, fhould proceed from the flioulder rather than from the elbow. Perpendicular movements, in a ftraight line up and down, which Shakfpeare calls, " Sawing the air " with the hand," are to be avoided. Oblique motions
224 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY.
are th? moil pleating and graceful. Too fud !en and rapid motions are feklom good. Earnefmefs can be fully exprelfcd without their affiftance.
We cannot conclude our obfervations on this fubjecl, without earneftly admonhhing every fpeaker to guard againft all affe&ation, which is the deftru&ion of good delivery. Let his manner, whatever it be, be his own; neither imitated from another, nor u.ken from fome imaginary model which is unnatural to him. What- ever is native, though attended by feveral defects, is likely to pleafe ; becaufe it fhows us a man : and be- caufe it has the appearance of proceeding from the heart. To attain a delivery extremely correft and graceful, is what few can expe6t ; fince fo many natu- ral talents muft concur in its formation. But to acquire a forcible and perfuafive manner, is within the power of the generality of mankind. They muft only unlearn falfe and corrupt habits; they muft follow nature; and they will fpeak in public as they do in private, when they fpeak in earneft and from the heart.
MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE.
T<
O thofe who are anxious to excel in any of the higher kinds of oratory, iiotliing .is more neceffary than to cultivate habits of the feveral virtues, and to refine and improve all their moral feelings. A true orator muft pnifefs generous lentiments, and a mind turned towards the admiration of all thofe great and high ob- jects, which mankind are, by nature, prone to venerate. Connected with the manly virtues, he dihould have a ftrong and tender lenfibility to all the injuries, diftrefies, and farrows, of his fellow creatures.
Next io moral qualifications, what is moft requifite for an orator is a fund of knowledge. There is no art by which eloquence can be taught, in any fphere, without a fufh'cient acquaintance with what belongs to that fphere, Attention to the ornaments of ftyle, can only affift the orator in fetting off to advantage the ftock of materials which he pofiefles ; but the materials themfelves muft be derived from other fources than from rhetoric. The pleader muft make himfelf com- pletely acquainted with the law; he muft poflefs all that learning and experience which can be ufeful in his profeflion, for fupporting a caufe, or convincing a judge. The preacher muft apply himfdf clofely to the ftudy of
226 MEANS OF IMPROVING
divinity, of practical religion, of morals, of human na- ture j that he may be rich in all the fubje&s both of mftruction and of perfuafion. He who wifhes to excel as a member of the fupreme council of the nation, or of any public aflembly, fhould be minutely acquainted with the bufinefs which belongs to fuch affemblv, and ihould attend \vith accuracy to all the fafts which may be the fubjeS of queflion or deliberation.
Betides the knowledge which is more peculiarly con- nected with his profeffion, a public fpeaker fhould make himfelf acquainted wkh the general circle of polite li- terature. Poetry he will find ufeful for the embellifh- ment of flyle, for afibrding lively images, or pleafing iilufions. Hiftory may be flill more advantageous j fince the knowledge of facls, of eminent characters, and of the courfe of human affairs, muft find place on many occafions. A deficiency of knowledge, even in fubje6rs not immediately connected with his profef1 fion, will expofe a public fpeaker to many difadvant- ages, and give his rivals, who are better qualified, a decided fuperiority.
To every one who wiih.es to excel as a public fpeaker, a habit of application and induftry cannot be too much recommended. This is infeparably conne&ed with the attainment of every fpecies of excellence. No one ever became a diftinguiihed pleader, or preacher, or fpeaker in any aflembly, without previous labour and application. Induftry, indeed, is not only necetlary to
IN ELOQUENCE.
«very valuable acqtiifition. but i :< deflgned by Provi- dence as the 'ca'o v nr of eVei /lire, witliout which life would become fin and !nfrt>i.!. No enemy is fo deltruc-iive b«>th t.-> h :md to the real and anitm:ed er. liu-, as that relaxed flate of mind which pr. ti >!cnce and difli- pation. He who is dei ' \ . el in any art, will be diftinguiihed by an rnf'.ii.rtf.iim for that art; which firing his mind with the object in view, will difpofe him to endure every necniary degree of, induftry and per- feverance. This was the characieriftic of the great men of antiquity ; and it muit diftinguilh the moderns who would imitate their bright examples. By thofe who are ftudying oratory, this honourable enthufiafm iliould be cultivated with the moft lively attention. If it be wanting to youth ; manhood will flag exceedingly.
An attention to the beft models contributes greatly towards improvement in the arts of fpeaking or writ- ing. Every one, indeed, mould endeavour to have fomething that is his own, that is peculiar to himfelf, and that diftinguiflies his competition and ftyle. Ge- nius is Certainly deprefled, and its poverty betrayed, by a flavifh i.nitation. But yet, there is no genius fo ori- ginal, but may receive improvement from proper ex- amples, in ftyle, composition, and delivery. They al- ways afford fome new ideas, and contribute to enlarge and correct our own. They accelerate the current of thought, and excite the ardour of emulation.
'-!28 MEANS OF IMPROVING
In imitating the ftyle of any favourite author, a ma- terial diftintlion fhould be ohferved betwe and fpoken language. Thefe are, in reality, t\v< rent modes of communicating ideas. In books, -we ex^ecl correclnefs, precifion, all redundancies prt.ned, all repetitions avoided, language completely poiilhed. Speaking allows a more eafy, copious ftyle, and lefs confined by rule ; repetitions may often be requifite, parentbefes may fometimes be ornamental ; the faruc thought mutt often be exhibited in diiterent points of view ; fince the hearers can catth it cnly from the mouth of the fpeaker, and have not the opportunity, as in reading, of turning back, again, and of contemplat- ing what they do not entirely comprehend. Hence the ftyle of fume good authors would feem ftiff, afftcted, and even obfcure, if transferred into a popular oration. How unnatural, for irtftance, would Lord Shaftfbury's fentences found in the mouth of a public fpeaker ? Some kinds of public difcourfe, indeed, fuch as that of the pulpit, where a more accurate preparation and a more ftudied ftyle are allowable, would admit fuch a manner better than others, which are expected to ap- proach nearer to extemporaneous fpeaking. But yet there is, generally, fo great a difference between fpeak- ing, and a competition intended only to be read, as fhould caution us againft a clofe and improper imitation.
The compofition of fome authors approaches nearer to the ftyie of fpeaking than others ; and they can,
IN ELOQUENCE. 22Q
therefore, be imitated with more propriety. In our own language, Swift and Bolingbroke are of this de- fcription. The former, though correct, preserves the eafy and natural manner of an unaffected fpeaker ; and this is an excellence by which he is peculiarly dil- tinguiflied. The ftyle of the latter is more fplendid ; but ftill it is the ftyle of Ipeaking, or rather of decla- mation. Bolingbroke, indeed, may be ftudied with fingular advantage by thofe who are defirous of attain- ing the natural elegance and the graces of compofition.
Frequent exercife both in compofing and /peaking muft be recommended as a neceilary mean of improve- ment. That kind of compofition is, undoubtedly, moft ufeful, which is connected with the profellion, or ibrt of public fpeaking, to which perfons devote them- felves. This they mould ever keep in view, and be gradually habituating themfelves to it. At the fame time they fliould be cautious not to allow themfelves to compoie negligently on any occafion. He who wimes to write, or to fpeak correctly, fliould, in the moft trifling kind of compofition, in writing a letter, or even in common converfation, endeavour to exprefs himielf with propriety. By this we do not meaii, that he is never to write, or to fpeak, but in ftudied and artificial language. This would introduce a ftiffnefs and affectation, infinitely worfe than the greateft negli- gence. But we muft obferve, that there is in every X
MEANS OF IMPROVING
thing a proper and becoming manner; and, on the con- trary, there is alfo an awkward performance of the fame thing. That manner which is becoming, is often the moft light, and apparently the moft cartrlels ; but tafte and attention are requifite to pofTefs the juft idea of it. That idea, when once acquired, mould be kept conflantly in view, and upon it mould be formed what- ever we write or fpeak.
Exerciies of fpeaking have always been recommended to ftudents in elocution ; and, when under proper re- gulation, mud, undoubtedly, be of the greateft ufe. Thofe public and promifcuous focieties, in which num- bers are brought together, who are frequently of low Nations and occupations, who are connected by no common bond of union, except a ridiculous rage for public fpeaking, and have no other object in view, than to exhibit their fuppofed talents, are inftitutions not only of an ufelefs, but of an injurious nature. They are calculated to become feminaries of licentioufnefs, petulance, and faction. Even the allowable meetings, into which ftudents of oratory may form themfelves, muft be under proper direction, in order to be rendered ufeful. If their fubjects of debate be improperly fe- lected 5 if they fupport extravagant or indecent topics ; if they indulge themfelves in loofe and flimfy declama- tion ; or accuftom themfelves, without preparation, to fpeak pertly on all fubjefts ; they will unavoidably ac- quire a very faulty and vicious taite in fpeaking. It
IN ELOQUENCE. 231
ihould, therefore, be recommended to all thofe who are members of fuch ibcietics, to attend to the choice of their fubjetfts ; to take care that iheie be uieful and manly, eitlier connected with the courie of their lludies, or related to morals and tulle, to action and life. They ihould be temperate in the practice of fpeakingj not to fpeak too frequently, nor on fabjedts of which they are ignorant ; but only when they have laid up proper materials for a difcourfe, and have previoufly confidered and digefted the fubject. In fpeaking, they mould be cautious always to keep good fenfe and perfuafion in view, rather than a mew of eloquence. By thefe means, they will adopt the belt method of forming themfelves gradually to a manly, correct, and perfuafive elocution,
It may now be aiked, of what ufe will the ftady of critical and rhetorical writers be, /or the improvement of thofe who \vifh to excel in eloquence ? They ought certainly not to be neglected j and yet, perhaps, very- much cannot be expected from them. It is, however, from the original ancient writers that the greateft ad- vantage can be derived ; and it is a difgrace to any one, whofe profeffion calls him to fpeak in 'public, to be unacquainted with them. In all the rhetorical writers among the ancients, there i=, indeed, one defeft ; they are too fyftematical; they endeavour to perform too much ; they aim at reducing rhetoric to a perfcft art, which may fupply invention with materials on every X2
MEAXS OF IMPROVING
Jubjecr.} ib that one would luppofe they expected to make an orator by rule, in the fame manner as a me- chanic would learn his bufinefs. But, in reality,, all that can be done, is to affift and enlighten tafte, and to ;H int out to genius the path in which it ought to tread.
Ariflotle feems to have been the firft who took rhetoric out of the hands of the fophifts, and founded it on reafon and folid fenfe. Some of the moft fubtle obfervations which have been made on the paffions and manners of men, are to be found in his Treatife on Rhetoric ; though in this, as in all his writings, his great concifenefs often renders him obfcure. The Greek rhetoricians who fucceeded him, moftof whom are now lofr, improved on the foundation which he had laid. Two of them are ftill cxifting, Demetrius Phalereus, and Dionyfius of HalicarnafTus : Both have written on the conftru&ion of fentences, and deferve to be confulted; particularly Dionyfius who is a very accurate and able critic.
To recommend the rhetorical writings of Cicero, would be fuperfluous. Whatever, on the fubjeft of eloquence, is fuggefled by fo great an orator, muft be worthy of attention. His moft extenfive work on this fubjett is that De Oratore, in three books. None cf his writings are more highly finiflied than this treatife, The dialogue is politely conducted, the characters are well fupported, and the management of the whole is
IN ELOQUENCE. 233
beautiful and pleating. The Orator ad AL Erutum is alib a valuable treatife: and, indeed, throughout all Cicero's rhetorical works, there are fecn thole elevated and fublime ideas of eloquence, which are well calcu- lated to form a juft tafle, and to inlpire that enthufi- afm for the art, which is highly conducive to the at- tainment of excellence.
Among all the ancient writers on the fubjcd of ora- tory, none, perhaps, is more inftruclive, and more ufe- ful, than Quintilian. His Jnftitutions abound with valuable knowledge, and difcover a tafte in the higheft degree juft and accurate. He has well digctfed the ancient ideas concerning rhetoric, and has delivered his inftruc"lions in elegant and polifhed language.
COMPARATIVE MERIT OF THE ANTI1. - | . AND THE MODERNS.
Very curious queftion has been agitated, with regard to the comparative perfedion of the antients and the moderns. In France this difpute was carried on with great heat, between Boileau and Madame Dacier for the antients, and Perrault and La Motte for the moderns. Even at this day men of letters are divided on the fubjecl ; and it is fomewhat difficult to difcern, r.pon what grounds the controveriy is to be determined.
To decry the anlient Clallics is a vain attempt. Their reputation is eflabliihed upon too folid a founda- tion to be fhaken. At the fame time, it is obvious that imperfections may be traced in their writings. But to dilcredit their works in general, can only belong to peeviihnefs or prejudice. The approbation of the public, for fo many centuries, eftablifh.es a verdict in their favour, from which there is no appeal.
In matters of mere reafoning the world may be long5 miftaken ; and fyilems pf philofophy have often a cur- rency for a time, and then die. But in objects of tafte there is no fuch fallibility; as they depend not on knowledge and fcience, but upon fentiraent and feeling. Now the univerial feeling of mankind muft be right ;
ANT1ENTS AND MODERNS. 235
and Homer mid Virgil muft continue to (land upon the lame ground which they have occupied fo long.
It is true, at the fame time, that a blind veneration ought not to be paid to the antients; and it is proper to inllitute a fair companion between them and the mo- derns. If the antients are allowed to have the pre- eminence in genius, it is obfervable, that the moderns cannot but have fome advantage, in all arts of which the knowledge is progrellive.
Hence in natural philolbphy, aftronomy, chemiftry, and other fciences, which reft upon the obfervation of fads, it is undoubtedly certain, that the moderns have the fuperiority over the antients. Perhaps too, in pre- cile reafoning, the philofophers of the modern ages have the advantage over thofe of antient times; as a more extenlive literary intercourfe has contributed to fharpen the faculties of men. Perhaps alfo the moderns have the fuperiority in hiftory, as political knowledge is certainly" more perfect now than of old, from the ex- tenfion of commerce, the difcovery of different coun- tries, the fuperior facility of intercourfe, and the mul- tiplicity of events and revolutions which have taken place in the world. In poetry likewife fome advantages have been gained on the fide of regularity and accuracy. In dramatic performances, improvements have certainly been made upon the antient models. The variety of the characters is greater ; a greater ikill has been difplayed in the conduct of the plot ; and a happier attention to
'236 COMPARISON OF THE
probability and decorum. Among the antients we find higher conceptions, greater .originality, and a more for- tunate fimplicity. Among the moderns there is more art and more correctnefs, but a genius lefs forcible and flriking. It is notwithstanding obfervable, that though this rule may be juft in general, there are doubtlefs ex- ceptions from it. Thus it may be fatd, that Milton and Shakfpeare are not inferior to any poet in any age.
Among the antients there were many circumftances which were favourable to the exertions of genius. They travelled much in fearch of learning, and converfed with priefts, poets, and philofophers. They returned home fired with the difcoveries andacquifitions which they had made. Their enthufiafm was great; and there being few who were Stimulated to excel as au- thors, the fame they procured was more intenfe and flattering. In modern times competition is lefs prized as an art. Every boby have pretenfions to it. We wiite with lefs effoit and more at eafe. Printing has multiplied books fo prodigally, that afliftances are com- mon and eafy, and a mediocrity of genius prevails. To rife beyond this, and to pafs beyond the crowd, is the happy pre-eminence of a cholen few.
With refpecl to epic poetry, Homer and Virgil are ftili unrivalled; and modern times have produced no orator, who can be compared with Demoflhenes and Cicero. In hiftory we have no modern narration that is fo elegant, fo pidurefque and fo animated as thofe of
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 237
Herodotus, Thueydides, Xenophon, Livy, Tacitus, and Salluft. Our dramas, with all the improvements they bau- received, are inferior, in poetry and fentiment, to thole of Sophocles and Euripides. We have no comic dialogue fo gracefully fimple as that of Terence. Ti- bullus, Theocritus, and Horace have no counterparts in modern times. By thofe therefore who would improve their tafte, and feed their genius, the utmoft attention muft be paid to the ancient claffics, both Greek and Roman.
After having made thefe obfervations on the antients and the moderns, it may be proper to treat critically of the more diftinguiflied kinds of compofition, and of the characters of thofe writers, whether ancient or modern, who have excelled in them. Of orations and public difcourfes much has already been faid. The remaining profe compolitions may be divided into hiftorical writing, philofophical writing, epiftolary writing, and fictitious hiftory.
HISTORICAL WRITING .
JSTORY may be defined to be a record of truth, for the inftrudion of mankind. Hence it follows, that the great requifites of an hiftorian are impartiality, fide- lity, gravity, and dignity.
In the conduct of an hiftorical detail, the attention of the hiitoriau fhould be applied, moft anxioufly, to beftow upon his work as much unity as poflible. His hiftory fhould not confift of feparate and unconnected parts. Its portions £hould be linked together by a connecting principle, which fhould produce in the mind the impreflion of Ibmething that is one, whole and en- . tire. Polybius, though not an elegant writer, is remark- able for poflefling this quality.
An hiftorian mould trace actions and events to their iburces. He fhould, therefore, be acquainted with hu- man nature, and with political knowledge. His fkill in the former will enable him to defcribe the characters of individuals; and his proficiency in the latter would prepare him for the talk of recording revolutions of go- vernment, and for accounting for the operation of po- litical caufes on public affairs. With regard to po- litical knowledge, the antients wanted fome advantages which are enjoyed by the moderns. There was not, in.
HISTORICAL WRITING. 23Q
antient periods, fo free a communication among neigh- bouring dates, as in the modern ages. There prevailed vno regular intercourfe by eftabliflied pofts ; and there were no ambaffadors residing at diftant courts. A larger experience too, of the different modes of government, has improved the modern hiftorian beyond the hiftorian of antiquity.
It is, however, in the form of the narrative, and not by the atfecled mode of dilfertation, that the hiftorian is to impart his political knowledge. Formal difcuflions expofe the hiftorian to the "fafpicion of being willing to accommodate his facts to his theory. They have alfo an air of pedantry, and are an evident refult of his want of art. For reflexions, whether moral, political or philofophical, may be infinuated in the ftream and bo- dy of a narrative.
Clearnefs, order, and due connection, a re great virtues in hiltorical narration. They are attained when the hif- torian is fo completely mafter of his fubjeft, as that he can fee it at one view, and comprehend its dependence of parts. Hiftory being a dignified fpecies of compofi- tion, it fhould alfo be confpicuous for gravity. There fhould be nothing mean or vulgar in the hiftoric ftyle ; no quaintnefs, no fmartnefs, n%o alienation, no wit, A hiftory fhould likewife be interelting; and this is the circumftance which diftinguifhes chiefly the genius and eloquence of the writer.
HISTORICAL WRITING.
In order that an hiftorian be intereftingv it is neceiTary that he preferve a proper medium between a rapid re- cita], and a detailed prolixity. He fhould know when to be concife, and when to enlarge. He fliould attend to a proper feledion of circumftances. Thefe give life, body, and colouring to his narration. They confiitutr •what is termed hiftorical painting.
In all thefe qualities of hiftory, and particularly in pitSturefque defcription, the antients eminently excel. Hence the pleafure of reading ThucydTues, Livy, Salluft, and Tacitus. In the talent of hiftorical painting, there are great varieties. Livy, for example, and Tacitus, pf.int in very different ways. The dcfcripticns of Livy are full, plain, and natural ; but thofe of Tacitus are fliort and bold.
One embellifhment which the moderns have laid alidc was praftifed by the antients. This is the putting of orations into the mouths of celebrated peribnages. Thefe ferve to diverfify hiftory, and were conveyances for moral and political inftrudion. Thucydides was the firft hi dorian who followed this practice ; sncl the ora- tions with which his hiftory abounds, are valuable re- mains of antiquity. It is doubtful, however, whether this embellifhment fhould be allowed to the hiftorian : for they form a mixture that is unnatural, joining together truth and fiction. The moderns are, peihaps, mere chafte, when, on great occanons, the hiftprjan delivers.
HISTORICAL WRITING. 241
in his ownperfon, the fentiments and reafonings of op- pofite and contending factions.
Another fplendid embellimment of hiftory is, the de- lineation of charaders. Thefe are confidered as exhi- bitions of fine writing ; and hence the difficulty of ex- celling in this province. For charafters may be too mining and laboured. The accomplilhed hiftorian avoids here to dazzle too much. He is folicitous to give the refemblance in a ftyle equally removed from meannefs and affectation. He ftudies the grandeur of fimplicity.
A found morality fhould alfo be chara&eriftic of the perfect hiftorian. He mould perpetually mow himlelf upon the fide of virtue. It is not, however, his pro- vince to preach ; and his morality mould not ocqupy too large a proportion of his work. He fliould excite indig- nation againtt the defigning and the vitious ; and by ap- peals to the paflions, he will not only improve his reader, but take-away from the natural coolnefs of hiftorical narration.
In modern times, the hiftorical genius has fhone moft in Italy. Acutenefs, political fagacity and wifdom, are all confpicuous in Maclu'avel, Guicciardin, Davila, Bentivoglio, and Father Paul. In Great-Britain hiftory has only been faftiionable for a few years. For though Lord Clarendon andBurnct are very confiderable hiftori- ans, they are inferior to Hurne, Gibbon, and Robert fon. Y
'2-l'2 HISTORICAL WRJTIXG.
The inferior kinds of hiftorical cumj.'oiitiou are annals, memoirs, and lives. Anna], are a collection of tacts, according to chronological order ; and the properties of an annalitl are fidelity and diftinftnefs. Memoirs are a compofition which pretends not to hold out a complete detail of the period to which it relates, but only to record what the author knows in his own perfon, or from parti- cular information concerning any certain object, tranf- adion, or event. It is not, therefore, expected of fuch a writer, that he mould poifefs that profound refearch, and thofe fuperior talents, which are requifite in an hif- torian. It is chiefly required of him, that he fhould be iively and interefting. The French have put forth a flood of memoirs ; the greateft part of which are to be regarded as agreeable trifles. We muft, however, ex- cept from this cenfure the memoirs of the Cardinal de Retz, and thofe of the Duke of Sully. The former join to a lively narrative, great knowledge of human na- ture. The latter deferve very particular praife. They approach to the dignity of legitimate hiftory. They are full of virtue and good fenfe ; and are well calculated to form both the heads and the hearts of thofe, who are de- iigued for high ftations in affairs, and the world.
The writing of lives, or biography, is a fort of com- pofition lefs ftately than hiftory ; bnt it is, perhaps, more inftructive. For it affords the full opportunities of dif- playing the characters of eminent men, and of entering into a thorough acquaintance with them. In this
HISTORICAL WRITING. '243
kind of writing Plutarch excels; but his matter is better than his manner j and he has no peculiar beauty or elegance. His judgment too, and accuracy, are not to be highly commended. But he is a very humane writer, and fond of displaying great men in the gentle lights of retirement.
It is now right to oblerve, that of late years a great improvement has been introduced into hiftorical writing. A more particular attention than formerly, has been Ihown to laws, commerce, religion, literature, and to the fpirit and genius of nations. It is now conceived, that an hiftorian fliould illuftrate manners as well as fads. The perfon who introduced this improvement into luf- tory is Voltaire ; who, as an hiftorian, has very enlarged and inftructive views.
Y2
PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING.
F philofophy, the profefled object is to inftruft. With the philofopher, accordingly, ftyle, form, and drefs, are inferior purfuits. But they muft not wholly be neglected. For the fame reafoniugs delivered in an elegant fafliion, will ftrike more than in a dull and dry manner.
In a philofophical writer, the ftricteft precision and accuracy are required j and thefe qualities may be pof- feffed without drynefs. For there are examples of phi- lofophical writings that are polifhed, neat, and elegant. It admits of the calmer figures of fpeech, but rejects whatever is florid and tumid. Plato and Cicero have left philofophical treatifes, compofed with much elegance and beauty. Seneca is too fond of an affected, a bril- liant, and fparkling manner. In Englifh, Mr. Locke's Treatife on the Human Underftanding is a model of a clear and diftinct philofophical ftyle. The writings of Lord Shaftlbury, on the other hand, are dreifcd out with too much ornament and finery.
Among the antients, philofophical writing aflumed often the form of dialogue. Plato is eminent for the beauty of his dialogues. In richnefs of imagination, no philofophic writer, either antient or modern, is equal
PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING. 2-13
to him. His only fault is the exceifive fertility of his imagination, which carries him into allegory, fi&ion, enthufiafm, and the airy regions of myftical theology. Cicero has allo diftinguiQied himfelfbyhis dialogues; but they are not fo fpirited and chara&eriftical as thofe of Plato. They are yet agreeable and well fupported ; and fliow us how convrrfations were carried on among the princinil perfons of antient Rome. Of the light and humorous dialogue, Lucian is a model ; and he has been imitated by modern writers. Fontenelle has written dialogues which are fprightly and agreeable : but as for characters, whoever his perfonages be, they all become Frenchmen. The divine dialogues of Dr. Henry More, amidft academic ftiffnefs, are often remarkable for cha- rader and vivacity. Bifhop Berkley's dialogues are ab- ftraft and yet perfpicuous.
Y 3
EPISTOLARY WRITING.
X epifto'ary writing \ve expect familiarity and cafe ; and much of its charm depends on its introducing us in- to fome acquaintance with the writer. Its fundamental requifites are nature and fiinplicity, fprightlinefs and wit. The ftyle of letters, like that of converfation, fhould flow eafily, and mould indicate no mark of ftudy. The letters of Lord Bolingbroke and of Biihop Atterbury are mafterly. In thofe of Mr. Pope, there is, in gene- ral, too much lludy : and his letters in particular to ladies, are too full of aftedation. In French, Balz?.c and Voiture are celebrated epiftolary writers. The for- mer is fuelling and pompous : the latter fparkling and witty. Of a familiar correfpondence, the moft accom- pliilied model are the letters of Madame de SevJgne. They are eafy, varied, lively, and beautiful. The let- ters of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, though not fo perfect are perhaps more agreeable to the epiftolary liyle, than any that have ever appeared in England.
FICTITIOUS HISTORY.
TT
JL HIS fpecies of competition includes a very nume- rous, and, in general, an infignificant clafs of writings, called romances and novels. Of thefe, however, the influence is known to be great; and, indeed, notwitb- Handing the bad ends to which this mode of writing may be applied, it is very poffible to employ it for the moft ufefal purpofes. Romances and novels defcribe human life and manners, and difcover the diforders, as well as the perfections, of the paflions. Even wife men, in different nations, have ufed fables and fictions for the propagation of knowledge ; and it is an obfer- vation of Lord Bacon, that the common affairs of the world are inefficient to engage the' mind of man. He mufl create worlds of his own, and wander in the r^- gions of imagination.
All nations whatfoever have difcovered talents for invention, and the love of fidion. Among the Greeks we hear of the Ionian and Milefian tales. During the dark ages, fidion's affumed an unufual form from the prevalence of chivalry, Romances arofe, and carried the marvellous to. its highefl fummit. They exhibited knights as patterns not only of the moft heroic courage, .but as fuperlativejy eminent for religion, generofaty,
248 FICTITIOUS HISTORY.
eourtefy, and fidelity; and ladies, who were diftin- guifhed, lii ;'.£gree, for mod-fr/, delicacy,
and dignity of manners. Of thefe romances the raoft perfect model is the Orljndo Furiofo. But as tragic and enchantment came to be disbelieved and ridiculed, the chivalerian romances were difcontiuued, and were fucceeded by a new fpecies of fictitious
Of the fecond ftage of romance writing, the Cleopatra of Madame Scuderi, and the Arcadia of Sir Philip Syd- ney, are good examples. In theie, however, there was ftill too large a proportion of the marvellous'; and the books were too voluminous and unwieldy. Ro- mance writing appeared, therefore, in a new form. It dwindled down to the familiar novel. Interefting ii tuctions in real life are the ground work of novel writing. Upon this plan the French have produced works of great merit. Such is the Gil Bias of Le Sage, the Marianne of Marivaux, and the Nouvelle Heloife of Rouffeau.
In this mode of writing, the Englifh are inferior to the French ; yet in this way we have performances which difcover the ftrength of the Britim genius. Ro- binfon Crufoe is a well- conducted fidion. Mr. Field- ing novels are diftinguiihed for their humour, and for a boldnefs of character. Mr, Richardlbn, the author of Clariffa, is the moft moral of all our writers j but he polfefle-s the unfortunate talent of fpinning out his books into an imraeafurable length. As to the com-
FICTITIOUS HISTORY.
nion run of performances, under the titles of lives, adventures, and hiftories, they are moft inrlpid; and it is too often their tendency to deprave the morals, and to encourage diffipation and idlenels.
NATURE OF POETRY. Its ORIGIN and PROGRESS; "VERSIFICATION.
TAT, it may be aflced, is poetry ? and how does- it differ from profe ? Many difputes have been main- tained among the critics upon thefe queftions. The offence of poetry is fuppofed by Ariftotle, Plato, and others, to coniift in ficlion. This defcription, however, has been efteemed to be imperfect, and limited. Many account the chara£teriftic of poetry, to be imitation. But an imitation of human manners and characters may be carried on in profe.
Perhaps it is the beft definition of poetry, " that it u is the language of paflion, or of enlivened imagi- " nation, formed moft commonly into regular num- **• bers." As the primary aid of the poet is to pleafe and to move, it is to the imagination and the paffions that he addreffes himfelf. With him, inftru6tion and reformation are fecondary considerations.
It has been faid, that poetry, is older than profe ; and the pofition is certainly true. In the very beginning of fociety, there were occafions upon which men met to-
NATURE OF POETRY. 251
gather at feafts nnd facrifices, when mafic, dance, and fong, were the chief entertainment. The meetings of the northern tribes of America, are diftinguilhed by mafic and fong. By fongs they celebrate their religi- ous ceremonies, and their martial atchievements. And it is in fuch fongs which characterize the infancy of all nations, that there may be traced the beginnings of poetic composition.
Man is by nature both a poet and a mufician. The fame impulfe which produces an enthufiaftic poetic ftyle, produces a high modulation of found. Mufic and poetry are united in fong; and they mutually afiift and exalt each other. The firll poets fung their own verfes ; and hence the origin of what is called verfification, or the arrangement of words to fome tune or melody.
Poets and fongs are the firft objects that make their appearance in any nation. Apollo, Orpheus, and Am- phion, were the firft tamers of mankind among the Greeks. The Gothic nations had their fcalders, or poets. The Celtic tribes had their bards. Poems and fongs are among the antiquities of all countries ; and the occafions of their being compofed are nearly the fame. They comprize the celebration of goo's, and heroes, and victories. They abound in fire and en- thufialin ; and they- are wild, irregular and glowing.
252 NATURE OF POETRY.
It is in the progrefs of fociety that poems atfume different forms. Time feparates into claffes the diffe- rent kinds of poetic compofuion A peculiar merit, and certain rules, are affigned to each. The ode and the elegy, the epic poem, and dramatic competitions, are all reduced to regulations, and exercife the acute- nefs of criticifm.
ENGLISH VERSIFICATION.
MERE
quantity is of very Kttle effeft in Englifh verfificatiou. For the difference made between long and lliort fyllables, in our manner of pronouncing them, is very inconsiderable. The only perceptible difference among our fyllables, is occafioned by fome of them, being pronounced with that ftronger percuflion of voice, which is termed accent. Tins accent, however, does not always make the fyllable longer. It communicates only more force of found ; and it is upon a certain order and fuccerlion of accented and unaccented fylla- bles, more than upon their being Ihort or long, that the melody of our verfe depends.
In the conftitution of our verfe there is another effen • tial circumftance. This is the caefural pauie which falU towards the middle of each line. This pnnfe may fall after the fourth, the fifth, the fixth, or the fevcnth fyllable ; and by this means uncommon variety and richnefs are added to Engiifli verfiiicatiou.
When the pauie falls earlieft, it is upon the fourth fyllable ; and in this cafe, a fpirited air is ghen to the
Z
'254 ENGLISH VERSIFICATION.
line. Of this, the following lines from Mr. Pope, are a
proper illuftration :
On her white breaft | a fparkling crofs (he wore, Which Jews might kifs, | and Infidels adoie: Her lively looks | a fprightly mind difclofe, Quick as her eyes, | and as unfix'd as thofe. Favours to none, | to all fhe i'miles extends, Oft (lie rejects, [ but never once offends.
"When the paufe falls after the fifth fyllable, which divides equally the line, the melody is fenfibly altered. The verfe lofing the brilk air of the former paufe, be- comes more fmooth and flowing.
Eternal funfhine | of the fuot'efs mind,
Each prayer accepted, j and each wifli refign'd.
When the paufe follows the fixth fyllable, the me- lody grows grave. The march of the verfe is more fo- lemn and meafurcd.
The wrath of Peleus' Ton, j the direful fpring
Of all the Grecian woes, | O Goddefs fmg !
• The grave cadence becomes ftill more fenfible, when
the paufe follows the ieventh fyllable. This kind of verfe, however, occurs the moft feldom. Its effect is to diverfify the melody of long poems.
And in the fmooth defcriptive | murmur ftill. Long loved, adored ideas, | all adieu.
Our blank verfe is a bold and difencumbered mode of verification. It is free from the full clofe vbich
ENGLISH VERSIFICATION. 255
rhyme forces upon the ear at the termination of every couplet. Hence it is peculiarly fuited to fubje&s of dignity and force. It is more favourable than rhyme to the fublime, and the highly pa-thetic. It is the moft • proper for an epic poem, and for tragedy. Rhyme finds a proper place in the middle regions of poetry 5 and blank verfe in the higheft.
The prefeut form of our Englifh heroic rhyme in couplets is modern. For the meafure of verification in ufe in the days of Elizabeth, King James, and Charles I. was the ilanza of eight lines. Waller was the firft who gave the faihion to couplets ; and Dryden eftablifhed the ufage. Waller harmonized our verfe ; and Dryden carried it to perfection. The verfificatioa of Pope is peculiar. It is flowing and fmooth, correct and laboured, in the higheft degree. He has thrown totally afide the triplets, which are fo common in Dry- den, and the older poets. As to eaie and variety. Dryden excels Pope. He makes his couplets to run into one another, and has fomewhat of the freedom of blank verfe.
Z 2
PASTORAL POETRY.
T was not till men had begun to aflemble in great cities, aud the buftle of courts and large focieties was kno\vn, that pafloral poetry affumed its prefcnt form. From the tumult of a city life, men looked back with oomplacency to the innocence of a country retirement. In the court of King Ptolemy, Theocritus wrote the firft paftorals with which we are acquainted ; and in the court of Auguftus, Virgil imitated him.
The patforal is a very agreeable fpecies of poetry. It lays before us the gay and pleating fcenes of nature. It recalls the objects which commonly are the delight of our childhood and youth. It gives us the image of a life, to which we join the id?as of innocence, peace, virtue, and Icifure. It tranfports us into the calm Ely- fian regions. It holds out many objecls favourable to poetry ; rivers and mountains, meadows aud hills, rocks, trees, and fhepherds.
The paftoral poet is careful to exhibit whatever is moft pleafing in the psftoral ftate. He paints its fim- plicity, its tranquil ity, and happinefs; but conceals its rudenefs and miiery. His pictures are not thofe of real life. It is fufncieot that they referable It. He has oc-
PASTOKAL POETRY. 257
cafion, accordingly, for great art. And to have a pro- per idea of paftoral poetry, we muft confider, 1. llic fcenery. 2. The characters; and laftly, the fubjeds •which it exhibits.
The fcene muft be ever in the country ; and the poet muft have a talent for defcription. In this ref- pe£t Virgil is outdone by Theocritus, whofe paintings are richer and more piclurelque. In every pattoral, a rural profpe6t Ihould be drawn with diltin£hiei"s. It is infipid to have unmeaning groups of rofes and violets, of birds, breezes, and brooks. A good poet gives a landfcape that would figure on canvas. His obje&s are particularifed. They cannot be miftaken, and afford to the mind clear and plcaling conceptions.
In his allufions to natural objects, as well as in pro- feiled defcriptions of the fcenery, die poet fliould alfo be clear and various. „ He muft diverfify his face of nature. It is likewife a rule with him, to fnit his foe- nery to the fubje6t of the paftoral ; and to fliow nature under the forms that moft accurately correfpond with
the emotions and fentiments he defcribe?. Thus Vimil
o *
when he gives the lamentation of a defpairing lover, communicates a gloomy fadnefs to the fcene.
fantem inter den/as, umbrafa cacumina, fajos, Ajjidue <veniebat ; ibi bac incondita fotus Montibuf & fylvis fnidlo jaftablt inani.
Z 3
258 PASTORAL POETRY"..
As to the. characters in paftorals, it is not fufficient that they are peribns who refide conftautly in the country. Courtiers and citizens, who refort occasionally to re- tirements, would not figure in paftorals. The perfons in fuch poems muft be actually fliepherds, and wholly engaged in rural occupations. The fliepherd muft be plain and unaffected, without being dull or infipid. He muft have good fenfe, and even vivacity. He muft be tender and delicate in his feelings. He ihould never (kr.i in general reflections or in conceits, for thefe arc confequences of refinement. When Aminta, in Tafib, is difentangling his miftrefs's hair from the tree to which a iavage had bound it, he is made to fay, '•' Cruel " tree! how ceuldft thou injure that lovely hair, which " did thee fo much honour ? Thy rugged trunk was " not worthy of fuch lovely knots. "What have the "• fervants of love, if thofe precious chains are common " to them, and to the trees." Strained and forced fentiments like thefe, iuit not the woods. The language of rural perfonages is that of plain good fenfe, and natural feeling. Hence the charm of the following lines in Virgil :
Sepibusin tio/lris parvam te rojcida mala, (Dux ego *vejlereram) <v'idi cum matre legentem ; Alter ab undedmo turn me jam ceperat annus . Jam fragiles poteram a terra contingere ramcs- Ut vidi, ut peril, ut me mains abjlulit errzr-
Once with your mother to our fields you came For dewy apples: thence I date my flame;
PASTORAL POETRY. 15Q:
The choicelt fiuit I pointed to your view,
ThV young my raptur'd foul was fix'd on you ;
T e hough I jud could reach with little arms :
But then, even then, could feel thy powerful charms.
O liow I gaz'd in plrafing tranfport toft !
How glow'd my heart, in fweet delufion loft !
With refpeft to the fubjedls of paftorals, there is * nicety which is abiblutely necefiary. For it is not enough, that the poet mould give us fhepherds difcourf- ing together. Every good poem muft have a topic that fhould be interefting in fome way. In this lies the dif- ficulty of paftoral poetry. The aclive fcenes of country life are too barren of incidents. The condition of a fliepherd has few things in it that produce curiofity and furprize. Hence the generality of paftorals are common place, and impertinently infipid. Yet this infipidity is not folely to be afcribed to the barrennefs of topicks. It is in a great meafure, the fault alib of the poet. For human pa (lions are much the fame* in every fitua- tion and rank of life. And what an infinite variety of objects within the rural fphere do the paffions prefent ! The ftruggles and ambition of fliepherds ; their adven- tures j their difquiets and felicity ; the rivalihip of lovers; unexpected fucceffes and difafters are all proper topics for the paftoral mule..
Theocritus and Virgil are at the head of this mode of writing. For the fimplicity of his fentiments, the har- mony of his numbers, and the richnefs of his fcenery,
'26O PASTORAL POETRY.
the former is diftinguiihed. But he defcends fometime* into ideas that are mean, abunve, and immodeft. Virgil, on the contrary, has all the paftoral fimpliciry and grace, without any offensive rufticity.
The modern writers of paftorals have, in general, imitated Theocritus and Virgil. Snunazariu , however, a Latin poet, in the age of Leo X. attempted a bold in- novation, by compofing pifcatory eclogues, and chang- ing the fcene from woods to the fea, and from fhep- herds to fifhermen. But this attempt was unhappy, and he has had no imitators. The toilfome life of the fimer- man had nothing agreeable to prefent to the imagina- tion. Fifh and marine productions had nothing ] in them. Of all the moderns, Gefner, a poet of Switzer- land, has been the raoft happy. There are many new ideas in his Idyls. His fcenery is ftriking, and his def- criptions are lively. He is pathetic, and writes to the heart. Neither the paftorals of Mr. Pope, nor Mr. Philips, are a great acquifition to Engliih poetry. The paftorals of Pope are wonderfully barren ; and their chief merit is the fmoothnefs of their veriTncation. Philips attempted to be more natural 'than Pope; but wanted genius to fupport his attempt. His tbpicks, like thofe of Pope, are beaten ; and inftead of being na- tural or fimple, he is infipid and flat. Between thefe authors there was a ftrong competition ; and in fonie papers of the Guardian a partiality was (hown to Philips. This offended Pope, who procured a paper to be inferted
PASTORAL POETKY. 26l
in that work*, in which he afte&ed to carry on the plan of extolling Philips, but in which he fatirized him moll leverely with ironical compliments, and pointed to his own fuperiority over that poet. The Shepherd's Week of Mr. Gay was defigaed as a ridicule on Philips; and is an ingenious burleique of paftoral writing, when it copies too completely the manners of clowns and ruftics. As to Mr. Shenftone's paftoral ballad, it is one of the moil elegant Poems in the Engliih language.
In latter times, the paftoral writing has been extended into a play, or drama ; and this is one of the chief im- provements that have been made upon it. Two pieces of this kind are highly celebrated ; Guarini's Paftor Fido, and Taflb's Amuita, Both pofiefs great beauties; but the latter is the preferable poem, as being lels intri- cate, and lefs affected. It is yet not wholly free from Italian refinement. As a poem it has however, great merit. The poetry is plealuig aud gentle, and the Italian language has communicated to it that foftnefs, which is fo fuited to the ;iAlt^ral.
The Gentle Shepherd of Allan Ramfay is a paftoral composition which muft not be omitted. To this admi- rable poem it is perhaps' a difadv antage, that it is writ- ten in the old ruftic dialc6l of Scotland, which muft be foon obfolete : and it is further to be objected to it, that
* Guardian,'' No. 40,
262 PASTORAL POETRY,
it is formed fo accurately on the rural manners of Scotland, that a native alone of that country can tho- roughly enter into, and relifh it. Of natural defcrip- tion it is full; and it excels hi tendernefs of fentiment. The characters are drawn with a ikilful pencil, the in- cidents are affecting, and the icenery and manners are lively and juft.
LYRIC POETRY.
T
JL HE ode is a fpecies of poetry which preferves dig- nity, and in which many poets in every age have exer- ciled themfelves. Ode is, in Greek, equivalent with fong or hymn ; and lyric poetry implies, that the vcries are accompanied with a lyre, or with a mufical inltru- raent. The ode retains its firrt and moil antient form j and fcntiments of fome kind or other conftitute its fub- je6t. It recites not actions. Its fyirit, and the manner of its execution, give it its chief value. It admits of a bolder and more pailionate ftrain, than is allowed in limple recitations. Hence the enthufiafm that belongs to it. Hence that neglect cf regularity, and that difor- der it is fuppofed to admit.
There are four denominations under which all odes may be clafled. 1. Hymns addreifed to the Supreme Being, and relating to religious fubje£ts. 2. Heroic odes, which concern the celebration of heroes, and great actions. 3. Moral and philotbphical odes, \vhich refer chiefly to virtue, friendship, and humanity. 4. Fertive and amorous odes, which are calculated for pleafure and amufement.
As enthufiafm is confidered as the characteriftic of the ode, it has too much degenerated into licentioulnefs j
264 LYRIC POETRY.
and this fpecies of writing has, above all others, beck infected with the want of order, method, and connexion. The poet is out of fight in a moment. He is fo abrupt and eccentric, fo irregular and obfcure, that we cannot partake of his raptures. It is not indeed neecffary, that the ftrudnre of the ode fhould be ib perfectly exaft and formal as a didactic poem. But in every work of genius there ought to be a whole, and this whole fhouJd confift of parts. Thefe parts too fhould have a bond of con- nexion. In the ode, the tranfition from thought to thought may be briik and lapid, but the connexion of ideas thould be preferred ; a.ud the author fhould think and not rave.
Pindar, the father of lyric poetry, has led his imitators into wildnefs and r.mhufiaftic fury. They imitate his diforder without catching his fpirit. In Horace every- thing is correct, harmonious, and happy. His eleva- tion is moderate and not rapturous. Grace and ele- gance are his chara&eri fries. He fupports a mcral fen- timent with dignity, touches a gay one with felicity, and has the art to trifle moft agreeably. His language too is molt fortunate.
The Latin poets, of later ages, have imitated him; .and fome limes happily. Cafimir, a Polilh poet of the laft century, is of die number of his imitators ; and dif- covers a coufiderable degree of original genius, and poe- Cical fire. He is, however, far inferior to the Roman.
LYRIC POETRY. 265
Buchanan, in his lyric compofitions, is greater, and more claflical.
In the French, the odes of Jean Baptifte Roufleau are jurtly celebrated for great beauty of fentimcnt and expreflion. In our own language, Dryden's ode on St. Cecilia is well known. Mr. Gray, in fome of his odes, is celebrated for tendernefs and fublimity ; and in Dod- fley's Mifcellanies, there are feveral very beautiful lyric poems. As to profefled Pindaric odes, they are feldorn intelligible. Cowley is doubly harlh in his Pindaric compofitions. His Anacreontic odes are better j and perhaps the moft agreeable and perfe& in their kind, of all his work .
DIDACTIC POETRY.
dida&ic poetry, it is the exprefs intention t« convey ioftru£Hon and knowledge. A dida&ic poem may be executed in different ways. The poet may treat fome inltructive fubje& in a regular for<m> or with- out intending a great or regular work, he may inveigh againft particular vices, or prefs Ibnae moral obfervations on human life and characters.
The higheft fpecies of didactic compofition, is a for- mal treat! fe on fome philofophical or grave fubje<5t. Such are the books of Lucretius de Rerum Natura, the Georgics of Virgil, the Effay on Criticifm by Mr. Pope, the Pleafures.of the Imagination by Akenfide, Arm- ftrong on Health, and the Art of Poetry by Horace, Vida, and Boileau.
In all thefe works inftru&ion is the profefled obje6t. It is neceflary, however, that the poet enliven his leffons by figures, and incidents, and poetical painting. In his Georgics, Virgil has the moft common circumftances in rural life. When he is to fay that the labour of the farmer rauft begin in fpring. he exprefles himfelf in the following manner :
Vere no<vo, gelidus cants cum montlbuf humor -Llqttitur, & Zffbyro puirisfe gleba refol<v it ;
DIDACTIC POETRY. '207
Dfpreffo inclpidt jam tarn mibl Taurus aratra IngemerC) Qfulco attritusfplendcfcert uvm.-r,
While yet thefpring is youn.^, while earth unbinds Her frozen boiwin to the weftem winds ; While mouutaia fuows di.Tolvc a ;;unti the fun, And dreams yet new from prccipieces run : Even in this early dawning of the year, Produce the plough, and yoke the fturdy fleer, And goad him till he groans beneath his toil, Till the bright Ihaie is buried in the foil.
In all dida&ic works, fuch a method and order are re- quifite, as fhall exhibit clearly a connected train of in-» ftru6tioa. With regard to epifodes and embellishments, the writers of dida&ic poetry may indulge in great li- berties. For in a poetical performance, a continued fe- ries of inftruc~lion, without entertaining embellifhments, would fatigue, and even diiguft. The digreflions in the Georgics of Virgil are all admirable. The happi- nefs of a country life, the fable of Arifteus, and the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, cannot be praifed too much.
A dida&ic poet ought alfo to exert his fldll in con- ne&ing his epifodes with his fubje&s. In this addrefs Virgil is eminent. Among modern didactic poetry, Dr. Akenfide and Dr. Armftrong are defervedly illuf-. tvious. The former is very rich and poetical } but the latter maintains a greater equality, and is throughout remarkable for a chafte and correft elegance. A a 2
268 DIDACTIC POETHY.
Of dida&ic poetry, fatires and epiftles run into the mult familiar ftyle. It is probable, that the fatire is a relic of the ancient comedy, the groffnefs of which was cor- refted by Ennius and Lucilius. It was Horace who brought it to the perfection in which we now behold it. Vice and vitious characters are its objects, and it pro- fefles the reformation of manners. There arc three dif- ferent modes in which it appears in the writings of Horace, Juvenal, and Perfius.
The fatires of Horace have not much elevation. They exhibit a meafured profe. Eafe and grace characterize him j and he glances rather at the follies and weakneflei of mankind, than their vices. He fmiles while he re- proves. He moralizes like a found philolbpher, with the politenefs of a courtier. Juvenal is more de- elamatory and ferious; and has greater ftrength and fire. Perfius has diftinguifhed himfelf by a noble and iublime morality.
Poetical epiftles, when employed on moral and cri- tical topics, have a refemblance in the ftrain of their poetry to fatires. But in the epiftolary form many other fubjcfts may be treated. Love poetry, or elegiac, may, for example, be carried on in this mode. The ethical epifiles of Pope are a model : and he fhews in them the flrength of his genius. Here he had a full opportunity for difplaying his judgment and wit, his concife and happy eXpreflion, together with the harmony of his numbers. His imitations of Horace are fo happy, that
DIDACTIC POETRY. 2(X)
it is difficult to fay whether the original or the copy is the moft to be admired.
Among moral and didaftic writers, Do6tor Young ought not to be paffed over in filence. Genius appears in all his works ; but his Univerfal Paflion may be con- fidered as pofiefling the full merit of that concifenefs which is particularly requifite in fatirical and didaclic productions. At the fame time it is to be obferved,, that his wit is often too fparkling, and that his fenten- ces are fometimes too concife. In his Night Thoughts there is great energy of expreffion, feveral pathetic paf- fages, many happy images, and many pious fefledtions. But it muft be allowed, that he is frequently overftrained. and turgid, harfh and obfcure.
A a 3
DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
T is in defcriptive poetry, that the higheft exertions of genius may be difplayed. In genera], indeed, de- icription is introduced as an embellifhmen.t, and confti- tutes not, properly any particular fpecies or mode of compolition. It is the teft of a poet's imagination, and never fails todiftinguiih the original from the fecond rate genius. A writer of an inferior clafs, fees nothing new or peculiar in the object he would paint: he is loofeand vague j feeble and general. A true poet, on the con- trary, places an object before our eyes. He gives it the colouring of life, and the painter might copy from him.
The great art of picturefque defcription lies in the felection of circum fiances. Thefe ought never to be vulgar or common. They fhould mark ftrongly^the object. For all diftinct ideas are formed upon particu- lars. There fhould alfo be a uniformity in the circum- ftances which are felected. In defcribing a great object, all the circumftances brought forward fhould lift and aggrandize; and in holding out a gay object, all the circumftances Ihould tend to beautify.
The largeft and fulleft defcriptive performance, in
DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
our language, is the Seafons of Thomfon ; a work which poflcffes very uncommon merit. The ftyle is fplendid and ftrong, but fometimes harfli and indiftin6t. He ii an animated and beautiful defcriber, and poflcffed a feel- ing heart, and a warm imagination. He had ftudied nature with great care 5 was enamoured of her beau- ties ; and had the happy talent of painting them like a mafter. To fliew the power of a fingle well-chofen cir- cumftance to heighten a description, the following paf- fagc may be appealed to, in his Summer, where, relating the effeiSb of heat in the torid zone, he is led to take notice of the peftilence that deftroyed the Englifh fleet at Carthagena, under Admiral Vernon.
You gallant Vernon, faw The miferable fcene ? you pitying faw, To infant weakrwfs funk the warrior's arm ; Saw the deep racking pang; the ghaftly form ; The lip pale quivMng ; and the beamlefs eye No more with ardour bright ; you heard the groans Of agonizing (hip* from ftiore to fhore ; Heard nightly plunged, <»mid the fullcn waves, The frequent corfe. '•
All the circumftances felefted here contribute to aug- ment the difmal fcene, But the laft image is the moft ftriking in the pifture.
Of defcriptive narration, there are beautiful examples in Parnell's Tale of the Hermit. The fetting forth of the hermit to vifit the world, his meeting with a com- panion, the houfes in which they are entertained, of
272 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
the vain man, the covetous man, and the good man, are pieces of highly finiihed painting. But the richeft and the moft remarkable of ail the defcriptive poems in the Englifh language, are the Allegro and the Penferofo of Milton. They are the ftorehoufe from whence fuc- ceeding poets have enriched their defcriptions, and are to be considered as inimitably fine poems. Take, for inftance, the following lines from the Penferofo :
I walk unfeen
On the dry, Imooih-fhaven green,
To behold the wandering moon
Riding near her higheft noon ;
And oft, as if her head fhebow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of tifing ground,
I hear the far-off curfew found,
Over fome wide watered fhore,
Swinging flow with folemn roar :
Or, if the air will not permit,
Some ftill removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ;
Far from all refort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman's drowfy charm,
To blefs the doors from nightly harm;
Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be feen in fome high lonely tower,
Exploring Plato to unfold
What worlds, or what vafl regions hold
BESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 273
Th' immortal mind that hath forfook Her inanfion in this flcfhy nook ; And of tliefc daemons that are found In fire, in air, flood, or under ground.
All here is particularly pi&urefque, exprellivc, and concife. One ftrong point of view is exhibited to the readerj and the impreflion made is lively and interefting.
Both Homer and Virgil excel in poetical defcription. In the fecond JEneid, the facking of Troy is fo parti- cularly defcribed, that the reader finds himfelf in the midft of the fcene. The death of Priam is a mafter- piece of defcription. Homer's battles are wonderful, and univerfally known. Offian too paints in ftrong co- lours, and is remarkable for touching the heart. He thus pourtrays the ruins of Balclutha : " I have feen " the walls of Balclutha, but they were defolate. The " fire had refounded within the halls ; and the- " voice of the people is now heard no more. The " ftream of Clutha, was removed from its place, by the " fall of the walls ; the thiftle fhook there its lonely " head j the mofs whiftled to the wind. The fox looked " out of the window; the rank grafs waved round his " head. Defolate is the dwelling of Moina ; filence is " in the houfe of her fathers."
Upon a proper choice of epithets, there depends much of the beauty of defcriptive poetry. With regard to this, poets are too often carelefs; and hence the multi- tude of unmeaning and redundant epithets. Hence the
27-1 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
" Liquid! Fontes" of Virgil, and the " Prat a Cams " Albicant Pruinis" of Horace. Every epithet fhould add a new idea to the word which it qualities. To ob- fcrve that water is liquid, and that fnow is white, is little better than mere tautology. But the propriety and advantage of an ingenious fele&ion of epithets, will ap- pear beft from an example ; and the fallowing lines from Milton will afford one :
— - \VhoftjIl tempt with vvand'iing feet Tht daik, unbottom'd, infinite abyfs, And through the palpable o!>fcure, find out This uncouth way ? Or fpread his airy flight, Uoborn with indefatigable wings, Over the vaft abrupt ?
It is obvious, that the defcription here is very confi- derably afiifted by the epithets. The wandering feet, the unbottome.d abyfs, the palpable obfcure, the un- couth way, the indefatigable wing, are all very happy expreflions.
TUB POETRY OF THE HEBREWS,
N treating of the different kinds of poetry, that of the Scriptures deferves a place. In this talk, Dr. Lowth on the poetry of the Hebrews is an excellent guide ; and it may be proper, that we benefit by the obferva- tions of a writer fo ingenious.
•
.Among the Hebrews poetry was cultivated from the
earlieft times. Its general conftru&ion muft not be judged of by the poems of other nations. It is fingular and peculiar. It con ti its in dividing every period into correfpondent, for the moft part into equal numbers, which an'fwer to one another, both in fenfe and found. A frntiment -is exprdTed in the fir ft member of the pe- riod ; and in the fecond member the fame fentiment is amplified, o- fometimes cohtrafted with its oppofite. Thus, rt Sing nmo the Lord a new long— Sing unto the " Lord all the earth. Sing unfo the Lord, and blefs " hi« nine — fhew (ortli his falvation from day to day. " Dtclare iiic ^iorv among the heathen — his wonders " auvmg all people."
This form of poetical compofnion is to be deduced -from the manner in which the Hebrews lung their facred hymns. Ihefe were accompanied with mufic, and were
276 THE POETRY OP
performed by bands of fingers and muficians, who an- fwered alternately to each other. One band began the hymn thus : " The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice;" and the chorus, or ferni chorus, took up the correfpond- ing verficle : " Let the multitudes of the iiles be glad thereof."
But independent of its peculiar mode of conftru&ion, the facred poetry is diftinguillied by the higheft beauties of figure and expreflion. Concifenefs and ftrength are two of its moft remarkable characters. The fentences are always fhort. The fame thought is never dwelt •upon long. Hence the fublimity of the poetry of the Hebrews.
To understand the defcription of natural objects in
the Scriptures, it is neceffary to attend to particular ch>
cumftances of the land of Judaea. Throughout all
that region, little or no rain falls during the fummer
months. Hence to reprefent diftrefs, there are frequent
allufions to a dry and thirfty land, where no water is 5
and hence to defcribe a change from diftrefs to profpe-
rity, their metaphors are founded on the falling of iliow-
ers, and the burfting out of fprings. Thus in Ifaiah
" The wildernefs and the folitary place ihall be glad, and
" the defertfhall rejoice and blottom, as the rote. For in
" thewildernei's {ball waters break out, and ftreams in the
" defert ; and the parched ground ihall become a pool ;
" and the thirfty land, fpnngs of water 5 in the habita-
THE HEBREWS. '277
" tion of dragons there fhall be grafs, with ruihes " and reeds."
The comparifons employed by the facred poets arc generally fhort. They are, of confequence, the more linking. Of this the follow ing is a good example: " He " that ruleth over man muft be juft, ruling in the fear " of God : and he ihall be as the light of the morning, " when the fun rifeth, even a morning without clouds j " as the tender grafs fpsinging out of the earth, by " clear fhining after rain." 2 Sam. xxiii. 3.
Allegory likewife is a figure employed by the He- brews ; and a fine inffonce of this occurs in the Ixxxth Pfalm, wherein the people of Ifrael are compared to a vine. Of parables the prophetical writings are full ; and if it fliould be objected to thefe that they are obicure, it fhould be remembered, that in old times, in the Eaflern world, it was univerfally the faihion to convey truth under myfterious reprefen tat ions.
The figure, however, which elevates beyond all others the poetical flyle of the Scriptures, is the profopopaeia, or perfonification. The perfonifications of the Scrip- tures exceed, ui boldnefs and fublimity, every thing that can be found in other poems. This is more particularly the cafe when any appearance or operation of the Al- mighty is concerned. " Before him went the peftt- " lence—The waters faw thee, O God, and were Bb
278 THE POETRY OF
" afraid — The mountains faw tbee, and they trembled " — The overflowings of the waters pa fled by — 1 he ncep " uttered his voice, and lifted up his hands on high." The poetry of the Scriptures is very different frc>m mo- dern poetry. It is the burft of infpiration. Bold fub- limity, and not corred elegance, is its character.
The feveral kinds of poetry found in Scripture, are chiefly the didaflic, elegiac, paftoral, and lyric. The book of proverbs is a principal inftance of the didadic fpecies of poetry. Of elegiac poetry, there is a very beautiful inftance in the lamentation of David over Jona- than. Of paftoral poetry, the Song of Solomon is a high exemplification j and of lyric poetry, the Old Teftament is full.
With regard to the compofers of the Sacred Books, it is obvious that there is a ftrong diverfity in ftyle and manner. Of the facred Poets, the moft eminent are, die author of the book of Job, David, and Jfaiah. In the compofitions of David there is a great variety of ftyle and manner. In the foft and tender he excels ; and there are many lofty paflages in his Pfalms. But ia ftrength of defcription he yields to Job ; and in fubli- mity he is inferior to Ifaiah. The moft fublime of all poets, without exception, is Ifaiah. Dr. Lowth com- pares Ifaiah to Homer, Jeremiah to Simonides, and Eze- kicl to ^Efchylus. Among the minor prophets, Hofea, Joel, Micah, Habakkuk, and efpecially Nahum, are
THE HEBREWS.
eminent for poetical fpirit. In the prophecies of Daniel and Jonah, there is no poetry.
The book of Job is extremely antient ; but the author is uncertain ; and it is remarkable that it has no con- nection with the affairs or manners of the Jews and He- brews. The poetry of it is highly defcriptive. It abounds in a peculiar glow of fancy, and in metaphor, The author renders vilible whatever he treats. The fccne is laid in the land of Uz, or Idumaea, which 'a & part of Arabia ; and the imagery employed in it differ* from that which is peculiar to the Hebrews.
EPIC POETRY.
"F all poetical works, the epic poem is allowed to be the moft dignified. To contrive a ftory which is entertaining, important, and inftractive, to enrich it with happy incidents, to enliven it with defcriptions and characters, and to maintain an uniform propriety of fen- tlment, and a due elevation of ftyle, are efforts of high genius. An Epic poem may be defined to be the recital of fome illuftrious enterprize in a poetical form. The epic mule is of a moral nature ; and the tendency of this kind of poetry is the promotion of virtue. To this purpofe, it acts by extending our ideas of perfection, and by exciting admiration. Naw this is accomplifhed by adequate reprefentations of heroic deeds, and virtuous characters. Valour, truth, juftice, fidelity, friendlhip, piety, magnanimity, are the objects which the epic mufe prefents to our minds, in the moft fhining and ho- nourable colours.
Epic competition is diitinguilhed from hi ftory by its poetical form, and its liberty of fiction. It is a more calm competition than tragedy. It requires a grave, equal, anl fupported dignity. On fome occafions it
EPIC POETRY, 281
demands the pathetic and the violent, and it admits a great compafs of time and a&ion.
The aftion or fubject of the epic mart pofiefs three qualifications or proper! ie. It mud be one; it muft be great ; it muft be interefting. One aftion or enterprize muft constitute its fubjeft. Ariftotle infills on unity as efTential to the epic ; becaufe feparate fa«5ts never affect fo deeply, as a tale that is one and connected. Virgil and Homer are careful to uphold the unity of adion. Virgil, for example, has chofen for his fubjecl: the eftablilhment of ./Eneas in Italy ; and the anger of Achilles, with its coniequences, is the fubjed of the Iliad.
1 It is not, however to be underftood, that the epic
unity, or aftion, is to exclude epifodes. On the con- trary, the epic poem would be cold without them; and the critics consider them as its greateft embelliflmients. They arc introduced for the fake of variety; and they relieve the reader by fluffing the fcene. Thus He&or's vifit to Andromache in the Iliad, and Erminia's adven- ture with the ihepherd, in the feventh book of the Je- rufalem, afford us a well-judged and pleafing retreat from camps and buftles.
The next property of an epic after unity, is, that the aftion reprcfented be great, to a degree that is fuffici- ent to fix attention, and to juftify the fplendour of po- B b 3
282 EPIC POETRY.
etic elevation. Both Lucan and Voltaire have tranf- greffed this rule. The former does not pleafe, by con- lining himfelf too ftri&ly to hiftorical truth; and the latter has mingled, improperly, well-known events with fictitious parts. Hence they exhibit not that greatnefs which the epic requires.
The third property of the epic is, that it be intereft- ing. This depends, in a great meafure, upon the choice of the ftory. It depends, however, a great deal more upon the artful management of die poet. He muft frame his plan foas to comprehend many affecting inci- dents. He muft dazzle with valiant atchievements, He muft be awful and auguft ; tender and pathetic ; gentle and pleafing.
To render the epic interefling, great care rnuft alfo be employed with refpeft to the characters of the heroes. It is by the management of the characters that the poet is to excite the paffions, and to hold up the fufpenfe and the agitation of his reader.
It is generally fuppofed by the critics, that an epic poem fliould conclude fuccefsfully; as an unhappy con- clufion deprefies the mind. And, indeed, it is on the profperous fide generally that epic poets conclude. But two authors, of great name, are an exception to this practice. Lucan and Milton held the contrary courfe. The one concludes with the fubverfion of the Roman liberty j and the other with the expulfion of man from Paradife.
EPIC POETRY. 283
No precife boundaries are fixed for the time, or du- ration of the epic action. Of the Iliad, the action lafts, according to Boffu, no longer than forty- (even days. The action of the Odyffey extends to eight years and a half; and that of the /Eneid includes about fix years.
The perfonages in an epic poem fhould be proper, and well fupported. They ihould diiplay the features of human nature ; and admit of different degrees of vir- tue and turpitude. Poetic characters are of two forts, general and particular. General characters are fuch as are wife, brave, and virtuous, without any further dif- tinclion. Particular characters exprefs the fpecies of \villlom, of braver^', and of virtue, for which any one is remarkable. In this diicrimination of characters, Homer excels. Tallb approaches the neareft to him in this refpect : and Virgil is here greatly deficient.
Among epic poets it is the practice to felect fome particular perfonage as the hero. This renders the uni- ty more perfect, and contributes highly to the intereft and perfection of this fpecies of writing. It has been aflted, Who then is the hero of Paradife Loll ? The devil, fay a number of critics, who affect to be pleafant againft Milton for fo violent an abfurdity. But their conclusion is falfe. For it is Adam who is Milton's hero ; and it is obvious, that he is the moil capital and intereflfng figure in the poem.
In the epic poetry, belide human characters, there
284 EPIC POETRY".
are gods and fupernatural beings. This forms what is called the machinery of the epic ; and the French fup- pofe it eiiential to this fpecies of poetry. They con- ceive, that in every epic the main aftion ought to be curried on by the intervention of the gods. But there feems to be no folid reafon for their opinion, Lucanhas no gods, or fupernatural agents. The author of Leo- nidas has alfo no machinery.
But if machinery be not abfolutely neceffbry to the epic poem, it ought not to be totally excluded from it. The marvelous has a great charm for the generality of readers. It leads to fublime defcription, and fills the imagination. At the fame time it becomes the poet to be temperate in the ufe of fupernatural beings ; and to employ the religious faith or fuperftition of his coun- try, in fuch a way as to give an air of probability to events that are moft contrary to the ordinary courfe of nature.
As to allegorical perfonages, fuch as Fame, Difcord, Love, and fuch like, they form the worft machinery of any. In defcription they may be allowed ; but they fliould never bear any part in the action of the poem. As they are only mere names of general ideas, they ought not to be confidered as perfons, and cannot mingle with human aftors, without an unieemly confufion of fliadows with realities.
As to the narration of the epic poem, it is of little
EPIC POETRY. 285
coniequence whether it proceeds in the chara&er of the poet, or in the perfon of fome of the perlbnages. It is to be obferved, however, that if the narrative is given by any of the a&ors, it affords the poet the advantage of fpreading out fuch parts of the fubje& as he incline* to dwell upon in perfon, and of comprehending the reft within a fliort recital.
HOMEIVs ILIAD AND ODYSSEY.
A HE father of epic poetry is Homer ; and in order to relifh him, we muft diveft ourfelves of the modern ideas of dignity, and tranfport back our imagination almoft three thoufand years in the hiftory of mankind. The reader Is to expect a picture of the antient world. The two great characters of the Homeric poetry are, fire and fimplicity. But in order to have a clear idea of his merit, it may be right to confider the Iliad under the three heads of the iubject and action, the charac- ters, and the narration.
It is undoubtedly certain, that the fubjeft of the Iliad is happily chofen. For no object could be more fplendid than the Trojan war. A ten years liege againft Troy, and a great confederacy of the Grecian dates, muft have Ipread far the renown of many military exploits, and given an extenfive intereft to the heroes who were con- cerned in them. Upon thefe trndi ns Homer built his poem j and as he lived two or three centuries after the Trojan war, he had a full liberty to intermingle fable •with hiftory. He chofe not, however, the whole Trojan war for his fubject ; and in this he was right. He fe- lected, with judgment, the quarrel between. Achilles
HOMER'S ILIAD, Sec. 287
and Agamemnon, which includes the moft interefting period of the war. He has thus communicated the greater unity to h:s performance. He gained one hero, or principal character, that is Achilles ; and he Ihows the pernicious effects of difcord among confederated princes.
The praife of high invention has been uniformly be- ftowed on Homer. His incidents, his fpeeches, his cha- ~ rafters, divine and human, his battles, his little hiftory pieces of the perfons {lain, difcover a boundlefs imagi- nnlion. Nor is his judgment lefs worthy of commenda- tion. . His tfory is every where conducted with art. He rites upon us gradually. He introduces his heroes with exquifite ikilfulnefs into our acquaintance. The diftrefs thickens ; and every thing leads to aggrandize Achilles, and to give the moft complete intereft to his work.
In his characters, Homer is without a rival. He abounds in dialogue and converfation, and this produces a fpirited exhibition of his peribnages. It mutt at the fame time be acknowledged, that if this dramatic me- thod is often exprellive and animated, it takes away oc- cafionally from the gravity and majefty of the epic. For example, it may be obterved, that fome of the fpeeches of Homer are unfeafonable, and others trifling. With the Greek vivacity, he has alfo the Greek loquacity.
Terhaps in no character he difplays greater art than
288 HOMER'S ILIAD
in that of Helen. Notwithstanding her frailty and crimes, he contrives to make her interelting. Ihe ad- mirati m with which the old generals behold her when fl»e is coming towards them ; her veiling henelf, and fhedding tears in the prefence of Priam ; her grief at the fight of Menelaus ; her upbraiding of Paris for his cowardice, and her returning fondnefs for him ; thcfe ftrokes are exquifite, and worthy of a great matter.
It has been reproached to Homer, that he has been unhappy in his portrait of Achilles ; and the critics feem to have adopted this cenfure, from the following lines of Horace :
Imprgfr, rracundus, ir.fxcrabilis, acer, Jura negat Jibl tiata ; nibil ncn arrogat annis.
It appears that Horace was miftaken, and went be- yond the truth. Achilles, no doubt, was paflionate, but he was no contemner of laws. He had reafon on his fide ; and if he difcovcrs heat, it ihould be allowed that he had been notorioufly wronged. Befide bravery and contempt of death, he had alfo the qualities of open- nefs and fincerity. He loved his fubjedts, and refpected the gods. He was Itrong in his friendlliips ; and throughout he was high-fpirited, gallant, and ho- nourable.
Homer's gods make a great figure ; but his machinery was not his own. He followed the traditions of his country. But though his machinery is often lofty and
AND ODYSSEY. 25$
magnificent, it is yet true that his gods arc often defi- cient in dignity. They have all human pailiotis ; they drink and feaft and arc vulnerable like men. "While, however, he at times degrades his divinities, he knows how to make them appear with the moft awful majefty. Jupiter, for the moft part, is introduced with great dig- nity 5 and feveral fublime conceptions are founded on the appearances of Neptune, Minerva, and Apollo.
As to the flyleor manner of Homer, it is ealy, natural, and animated. He refembles in (implicit)- the poetical parts of the Old Teftament. Mr. Pope, in his tranflation of him, affords no idea of his manner. His verifica- tion is allowed to be uncommonly melodious.
With regard to narration, Homer is conciie and de- fcriptive. He paints his objects, in) a manner, to our fight. His battles are admirable. We fee them in all their hurry, terror, and confufion. His fimilies are thrown out in the greateft abundance ; and many of them are extremely beautiful. His companions have alfo great merit ; but they come upon us in too quick a fuc- cellion. They even ferve, at times, to difturb the train of narration. His lions, bulls, eagles, and herds of fheep, recur too frequently.
Upon the fubjeft of the Odyfley, the criticifm of Longinus is not without foundation ; that in this poem, Homer may be likened to the fetting fun, whole grandeur C c
HOMER'S ILIAD.
remains without the heat of his meridinn beams. la vigour and fublimity, it is inferior to the liiad. It has, however, great beauties, and is confelledly a very amufing poem. It poffefles much greater variety than the Iliad, and exhibits very pleafing pictures of antient manners. Inftead of the ferocity which per- vades the Iliad, it prefents us with amiable images of hof- pitality and humanity. It entertains us with many a wonderful adventure, and many a landfcape of nature; and there is a rich vein of morality and virtue running through every part of the poem.
It is not, however, without ftriking faults. Many of its fcenes are evidently below the level of die epic poem. The laft twelve books, after Ulyfles is landed in Ithaca, are, in many places, tedious and languid ; and perhaps the poet is not happy in the difcovery of Ulyfles to Pe- nelope. She is too cautious and diftruftful; and we meet not that furprize of joy which was to have been expccied on fuch an occafion.
THE vEXEID OF VIRGIL.
JL HE /Eneid has all the corre&nefs and refinement of the Auguftan age. We meet no contentions of heroes about a female flave, no violent fcoldiugs, no abufivc language. There reigns through the poem an uniform magnificence.
The fubjeft of the ^Eneid, which is the eftablimme-nt of ./Eneas in Italy, is extremely happy. Nothing could be more interefting to the Romans than to look back to their origin from fo famous a hero. While the objeft was fplendid itfelf, the traditionary hiftory of his country opened interefting fields to the poet ; and he could glance at all the future great exploits of the Romans, in its antient and fabulous ftatti.
As to the unity of action, it is perfectly well preferred in the ^Eneid. The fettlement of ./Eneas, by the order of the gods, is conftantly kept in view. The epiibdes are linked properly with the main fubject. The nodus, or intrigue of the poem, is happily managed. The wrath of Juno, who oppofes ^Eneas, gives rife to all his difficulties, and connecls the human with the celef- tial operations throughout the whole poem.
C c 2
THE ;EXEID OF VIKG1L.
There are great art and judgment in the ^Eueid ; but it is not to be fuppofed that Virgil is without his faults. One great imperfe&ion of the ^Eneid is, that there are almoft no marked characters in it. Achates, Cloanthes, Gyas, and other Trojan heroes who accompanied ./Eneas into Italy, are infipid figures. Even ./Eneas himfelf is without intereft. The character of Dido is the beft fupported in the whole ^Eneid.
Perhaps, in the ^Eneid, the management of the fub- je£t has leveral defects. The fix laft books received not die finifhing hand of die author ; and for this reafon he ordered his poem to be committed to the flames. The wars with the Latins are unimportant and uninterefting ; and the reader is tempted to take part with Turnus againfl:
The principal excellency of Virgil is tendernefs. His foul was full of fenfibility. He muft have felt himfelf all the affecting circumftances in the fcenes he defcribes j and lie knew how to touch the heart by a fingle ftroke. In an epic poem this merit is the next to fublimity. The fccond book of the ^Eneid is one of the greateft mafter- pieces that ever was executed. The death of old Priam, and the family pieces of ./Eneas, Anchifes, and Creufa are as tender as can be conceived. In the fourth book, the unhappy paflion and death of Dido are admirable. The epifodes of Pallas and Evander, of Nifus and Eu- $yalus, of Laulus and Mezentiu?, are all fuperlatively fine.
THE jGNEID OP VIRGIL. 1Q3
In his battles Virgil is far inferior to Homer. But in the important ejjilbde, thedefcent into hell, he has out- done Homer by many degrees. There is nothing in antiquity to equal the fixth book of the ^Eneid. The fcenery, the objefts, the defcription, are great, folemn, and f'blime. With regard to their comparative merit, it mull be allowed, that Homer was the greater genius, and Virgil the more cofreft writer. Homer is more ori- ginal, more bold, more fublime, and more forcible. In judgment they are both eminent. Homer has all the Greek vivacity. Virgil all the Roman ftatelinefs. The imagination of Homer is moft copious, that of Virgil the moft correct. The ftrength of the former lies in warm- ing the fancy, that of the latter in touching the heart. Homer is more fimple ; Virgil more elegant.
C c 3
LUCAN's PHARSALIA.
L,
=(UCAN is inferior to Homer and Virgil. He yet eleferves attention. There is little invention in his Phar- falia; and it is conducted in too hiftorical a manner to be ftrictly epic. It may be arranged, however, under the epic clafs, as it treats of great and heroic adventures. The fubjedt of the Pharlalia has fufficiently the epic dig- nity and grandeur 5 and it poflefles unity of object : for it points to the triumph of Caefar over 'the Roman liberty.
But though thefubjeft of Lucan is confeffedlr heroic, it is not happy ; and a penetrating reader may remark two defects in it. Civil wars prefent fhocking objects to obfervation, and furnifh melancholy pictures of hu- man nature. Thele are not fit topics for the heroic rnufe. It was the unhappinefs of Lucan's genius to delight in favage fcenes, and to depict the moft horrid forms of atrocious cruelty.
It is another defeft of Lucan's fubjeft, that it was too near the times in which he lived. This deprived him of the affiftance he might have derived from fiction and machinery. The facts upon which he founds were too well known, and too recent to admit of fables, and the iateipofition of gods.
LUCAN'S PHAKSALIA.
The chnra, e1-.- oi Luoan are drawn with fire and force. Biu ;M ' i Hoinpey is his hero, he has not able t> him fuHieiently interefling. He
marks not Poinpey by any high ditfin&ion, either for magnanimity or valour. He is always^ furpafled by Caelar. Cato is a favourite character with him j and he is very careful in making him always a; pear with aa advantageous luftre.
In mnnging his ftory, Lucan confines himfelf too much to chronological order. This breaks the thread of his narratioa, and hurries him from place to place. He is, at the fame time, too digreflive. He indulges pre- pofterouily in geographical defcriptions, and in philo- fophical difquifitions.
It muft, notwithftanding, be allowed, that there are fplendid paffages in the Pharfalia ; but the ilrength of this poet does not lie either in narration or defcription. His narration is often dry and harm, and his defcrip- tions are often overwrought. His chief merit confifts in his fentiments. They are noble, fh iking, glowing, and ardent. He is the mod philofophical, and the moft patriotic peet of antient times. He was a Stoick ; and the fpirit of that philofophy pervades his work. He is elevated and boldj and his feelings were keen and warm.
As his vivacity and fire are great, he is apt to be car- ried away by them. His great defeft is the want of mo«
2€)(5 LUCAN'S PHARSALIA.
deration. He never knows how to ftop. When he would aggrandize hisobjefts, he is unnatural and tumid. There is a great deal of bombaft in his poem. His tafte is marked with the corruption of his age; and infttad of poetry, he often exhibits declamation.
On the whole, however, he muft be allowed the praife of h'velinefs and originality. His high fenthnents and his fire ferve to atone for his various defects. His genius had llrength, but was without tendernefs or amcenity.
As to S-tatius and Silius Italicus, they cannot be re- ftifed to belong to the epic clafs ; but they are too in- ccmfiderable for minute or particular critkifm.
TASSO's JERUSALEM,
T
JL HE Jerufalcm Delivered is a ftrictly regular poem of the epic kind, and abounds with beauties. The fub- ject is the recovery of Jerufalem from the Infidels, bjr the muted powers of Chriftendom. The enterprize was fplendid, venerable, and heroic ; and an interefting cou- traft is exhibited between theChriftiansand the Saracens. Religion renders the fubject auguft, and opens a field for fublirae description and machinery. The action too lies in a country, and at a period of time fufficiently re- mote, to admit the intermixture of fable with hiftory.
A rich invention is a capital quality in Taflb. His events are finely divertified. He never fatigues his reader by famenefs or repetition. His fcenes have an endlefs variety; and from camps and battles, he tranf- ports us to more pleating objects. The work, at the lame time, is artfully connected ; and in the midft of variety, the author preferves, perfectly the unity of his plan.
"A great many characters enliven the poem; and thefe are fupported with a ftriking propriety. Godfrey is prudent, moderate, and brave; Tancrcd is amorous
208 TASSc's JERUSALEM.
and g.dlant; Rinnld^ is paflionate and refentful. but full of honour and heroifm. Solyinan, is high winded ; Er.j.mia is tender ; Arrnic'^ i a/tful and violent. la the drawing of chara&ers, Taifo is iuperior to Virgil, and yields to no poet but Homer.
There is a great d^al of machinery in this poet. When celeftial beings interfere, Taffo is noble, But devils, enchanters, and conjurers, ad too great ? part throughout his poem. And in general, the marvellous is carried to an extravagance, that fnotls the iutereft of the work. The poet had conceived too great an adini^- ration of the romantic fpirit of knight errantry.
In defcribing magnificent obje&s, The ftyle of Taffo is firm and majeftic. In gay and pleating deicription, it is foft and infmuating. Erminia's pafloral retreat. in the feventh book, and the arts and beauty of Armida in the fourth book, are exquifitely beautiful. His battles are full of fire, and varied in the incidents. It is chiefly by adions, cha rafters, and defcriptions, that he interefts us. For be excels not in the fentimental part of his performance. He is by far inferior to Virgil in ten- dernefs ; and, in general, when he aims at fentiment, he is artificial.
It has often been objected to Taffo, that he abounds in point and conceit ; but this is an error. For in his, general character he is mafculinc The humour of de-* crying him has palled from the French critics to thofe of
TASSO'S JERUSALEM. '2Q9
England. But their cenfures are founded either in igno- rance or prejudice. For the Jcrufalfm is the third epic poem in the world ; and Taflb takes his ftation after Homer and Virgil. Pie is eminent for the fertility of his invention, the exprefiion of his characters, the richnefs of his defcription. and the beauty of his fijk.
THE LUSIAD OF CAMOLXS.
T A HE Portuguefe boaft of Camoens, as much as the
Italians do of Taflb. The dilcovery of the Eaft-Indies by Vafco de Gama, is the fubjecl of the poem of Camo- ens ; and the enterprize is alike Iplendid and interefting. The adventures, diftrefies, and a&ions of Vafco, and his countrymen, are well fancied and defcribedj and the Lufiad is conducted on the epic plan. The incidents of the poem are magnificent; .and if an allowance is made for fome wildnefs and irregularity, there will be found in it 'much poetic fpirit, much fancy, and much bold defcription. In the poem, however, there is no attempt towards painting characters ; and the machinery of the Lufiad is altogether extravagant. There pre- vails in it an odd mixture of Chriftian ideas and Pagan mythology. The true deities appear to be Pagan divi- nities ; and what is ftrange, Chrifl and the holy Virgin are made to be inferior agents. The great purpofe, notwithstanding, of the Portnguefe expedition, is to ex- tend the empire of Chriftianity, and to extirpate Maho- metanifm.
In thk religious undertaking, the chief protector of the Portuguefe is Venus, and their great adverfary is
THE LU5IAD OF CAMOENS. 301
Bacchus. Jupiter is introduced as foretelling the down- fall of Mahomet. Vafco, during a ftorm, implores the aid of Chrilt and the Virgin; and, in return to this proyer, Venus appears, and difcovering the liorni to be the work of Bacchus, complains to Jupiter, and pro- cures the winds to be humed. All this is molt prepoi- terous ; but towards the end the poet makes an apology for his mythology. His apology, however, is not fatit- faclory. For his falvo is, that the goddefs Thetis in- forms Vafco, that fhe and the other heathen divinities are nothing more than names to defcribe the operations of providence.
In the Lufiad, notwithstanding, there is fome fine machinery of a different kind. The appearance of the genius of the river Ganges, in a dream to Emanucl, King of Portugal, inviting him to difcover its fecrct fprings, and acquainting him that he was deftined to enjoy the treafures of the Eaft, is a fine idea. But it is in the fifth canto that the poet difplays his nobleii con- ception of this fort. Vafco is there recounting the won- ders of his navigation. And when the fleet arrived at the Cape of Good Hope, which never had been doubled before by any navigator, he relates, that there appeared to them fuddenly a huge phantom, rifing out of the lea in the midft of tempefts and thunder, with a head that advanced to the Ikies, and a countenance the moft tcr-
D d
THE LUSIAD OP CAMOENS.
rific. This was the genius of that hitherto unknown ocean ; and he menaced them, in a voice of thunder, not to invade thofe undifturbed feas, and foretelling the calamities that were to befal them, retired from their view. This is a yery folema and ftriking piece of machinery.
THE TELEMACHUS OF ffENELON.
T would be unpardonable in a review of epic poets, to forget the amiable Fenelon. His work, though in profe, is a pt^m ; and the plan in general, is well con- trived, having epic grandeur and unity of action. He employs the antient mythology ; and excels in its appli- cation. There is great richnefs, as well as beauty, Ufc---.. hi s defcriptions. To foft and calm icenes his genius is more peculiarly fuited. He delights in painting the incidents of paftoral life, the pleafures of virtue, and the profperity and tranquillity of peace.
His firft fix books are eminently excellent. The ad- ventures of Calypfo are the chief beauty of his work. <~ivacity and intereft join in the narration. In the books which follow, there is lefs happiuefs in the execution, and an apparent languor. The author, in warlike ad- ventures, is moft unfortunate.
Some critics have refufed to rank Tie Telemacbus among epic poems. This delicacy arifes from the mi- nute details it exhibits of virtuous policy, and from the cHlcourles of Mentor, which recur too frequently, and in which there is doubtlefs too much of a common- place morality. To thefe peculiarities, however, the D d 2
304 THE TELEMACHUS OP FEXELON.
author was led from the defign with which he wrote, of forming a young prince to the cares and duties of a virtuous monarch.
Several poets of the epic clais, have diftinguifhed themfelves by defcribing a defcent into hell ; and in all of them there is a diverfity. It is even curious to oblerve, that from examining the notions they convey of an iu- vifible world, we may perceive with eaie the improve- ments which the progrefs of refinement had gradually produced in the opinions of men, with regard to a fu- ture ftate of rewards and punifhments. In Homer, the defcent of Utyffes into hell is indiftinc~t and dreary. The fcene is in the country of the Cimmerkms, who inhabit a region covered with clouds and darknefs ; and when the dead appear, we hardly know whether UlylTes is above or below ground. The ghofcs too, even of the heroes, appear to be lad and dhTatisfied.
t
In Virgil, the defcent into hell diicpvers greater re- finement, and indicates a higher advancement in philo- fophy. The ol>je6ts are diftincl, awful, and grand. There is a fine diferlmination of the feparate manfions. of the good and the bad fpirits. Feuelon, in Lis ttu-n, improves upon Virgil. The vifit of Telemacbus to the fhades is in a higher ft vie of philofophy. He refines tli a antient philofophy by his knowledge of the true religion, and that beautiful enthufiafm for which he is fo remarkable. His relation of the happineis of the juft, is an admirable effort in the niyfiic itrain.
THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE.
HE Henriade is, without doubt, a regular epic poem. To deny genius to Voltaire would be abfmd ; and in the prefent work, accordingly, he difcovers, in feveral places, that boldneis of conception, that vivacity, and that livelinefs of expreflion, for which he has been fo much diftinguifhed. A few of his comparifons are new, and remarkably happy. But perhaps, the Henri- ade is not the mafter-piece of this writer. In the tragic line, he has certainly been more fuccefsful than in the epic. It may be obferved too, that French versification is by no means fuited to epic compofition. Its want of elevation is againft it, as well as its being fettered with rhyme. There is thence not only a feeblenefs in the Henriade, but even a profaic flatnefs. The poem, of confequence, languifties; and the imagination of the reader is not animated with any of that fpirit and inter- eft, which ought to be infpired by a fublime and fpi- rited performance of the epic kind.
The triumph of Henry IV. over the arms of the
League, is the fubjeft of the Henriade But the action
of the poem includes, properly, only the (iege of Paris.
It is fufficientlrepic; and the poem, in general, is con-
D d 3
306 THE HEXRIADE OP VOLTAIRE.
ducted according to the critical rules. But it has great defects. It is founded on civil wars; and it prefents to
-\
the mind the odious objects of aflaffinations. The pe- riod which it contains is alfo too recent, and too much within the circle of well-known incidents. The author has farther erred, by mixing fiction improperly with truth. For example, he makes Henry IV. to travel into England, and to hold an interview with Queen Elizabeth. Now Henry never faw England, and never converfed with Elizabeth ; and fuch unnatural and ill ibrted fables are fo wild, that they fhock every intelli- gent reader.
A great deal of machinery is employed by Voltaire, for the purpofe of embellilliing his poem. But it is re- markable, that his machineay is of the worfl kind. It confifls of allegorical beings. Difcord, Cunning, and Love, are with him perfonages and actors. This i» againft rational criticifm. It is poffible to go along with the belief of ghofts, angels, and devils ; but it fhould be confidered, that allegorical beings are nothing better than reprefentations of human paffions and difpo- fitions; and they ought not to have a place as actors in any poem.
It is, notwithitanding, to be remarked, to the honour of Voltaire, that the machinery of Saint Louis, which he alfo employs, is poflefled of a real dignity. The prof- peel of the invifible world, which St. Louis gives to Henry in a dream, is a very fine paflage in the Henriade.
THE HEXRIADE OF VOLTAIRE.
The introduction, by Death, of the fouls of the dead in fucceffion before God, and the palace of the Deftinies, are alib patfhges which are ftriking and magnificent.
Notwithftanding the epifodes of Voltaire, his narra- tion is by far too general. At the fame time, the events are too much crowded together. The ftrain of fenti- ment, however, which pervades the Henriade, is noble. Religion appears always with the greateft luftre; and the poem has that fpirit of humanity and toleration, which is the conftant diftinction of men, who rife far above the level of the fpecies.
MILTOX's PARADISE LOST.
•iVJLILTON runs a new and very extraordinary career. In Paradife Loft, he introduces his reader, at once into an invifible world, and furrounds him with celeftial and infernal beings. Angels and devils are not his machinery but his a&ors. As the natural courfe of his events is marvellous, doubts may arife, whether his poem be .tfriftly an epic compofition. But whether it be fo or not, it is certainly a high effort of poetical genius ; and in majefty and fublimity, is equal to any performance of antient or modern times.
The fubjeft of his poem led Milton into difficult ground. If his matter had been more human and lefs theological ; if his occurrences had been connected with real life; and if he had afforded a greater difplay of the characters and paffions of men, his poem, to the gene- rality of readers, would have been more alluring. His fubjeft, however, was certainly fuited, in a peculiar manner, to the daring fublimity of his genius. As he alone, perhaps, was fitted for his fubje6t, fo he has fhown, in the conduct of it, a wonderful ftretch of ima- gination and invention. From a few hints afforded by the facred Scriptures, he has ftupendoufly railed a regu- lar ftrudlure, and filled his poem 'with a variety of inci-
WILTON'S PARADISE LOST. 309
dents. No doubt, he is at times dry and harflb; and too often the metaphyficbn and the divine. But in the general flow of his narration, he is engaging, elevated, and affecting. His objects are changed with art ; his fcene is now in heaven, and now on earth ; and amidll this variety he fupports the unity of his plan. Still and calm fcenes are exhibited in the employments of Adam and Eve when in Paradife; and there arebufy fcenes, and great adions, in the enterprises of Satan, and the wars of the Angels. The amiable innocence of our Firft Pa- rents, and the proud ambition of Satan, afford a con- tra ft throughout the whole poem, which gives it an un- common charm. But perhaps the conclufion is too tra- gic for epic compofition.
In the Paradife Loft there is no great difplay of cha- pters ; but the perfonag^s which appear are properly fupported. Sutan- is a figure particularly linking; and Hilton has artfully given him a mixed character, not al together void of fome good qualities. He is brave; and to his own troops he is faithful. He is impious, but not without remorfe. He even feels a fentiment of compaf- = fion for our Firft Parents, and appeals to the necefiity of his fituaiion, as an apology for his machinations againft them. His malice is not full and unbounded; and while he is refentful, he is ambitious. The characters of Beelzebub, Moloch, and Belial, are well painted. The good angels, though dignified, have too much unifor- mity. They have their diftin&ions, however ; and it is
310 MILTON'S PARADISE IOST.
impoflible not to remark, the mild condefcenfion of Raphael, and the tried fidelity of AbdieJ, The attempt of the poet to delcribe God Almighty himfelf, was too bold, and accordingly is unfuccefsful. Our Firft Parents are finely pourtrayed. Yet, perhaps Adam is repre- fented as too knowing and refined for his fituation Eve is hit off more happily. Her gentlenefs, modefty, and frailty, are expreffively chara6teriilic of the female character.
The great ftrength of Milton confifts in fublimity. Here, perhaps, he is fuperior to every poet. But it is to be obferved, that his fublimity is of a peculiar fort. It differs from that of Homer, which is always accom- panied with imj etuofity and fire. The fublime of Mil- ton is a calm and amazing grandeur. Homer warms us and hurries us along. By Milton we are fixed in a ftate of elevation and aftonifhment. The fublime of the former is to be found, moft commonly, in his defcrip- tion of actions ; that of the latter, in the reprefentatiou of ftupendous and wonderful objects.
But while Milton muft be allowed to be highly fub- lime, it is likewife true, that bis work abounds in the beautiful, the pleafing, and the (ender. When the fcene is in Paradife, the imagery is gay and fmiling. His defcriptions mark a fertile imagination ; and his fimi- lies have uncommon happinels. His faults, for what writer is without them, refer chiefly to his learned al- lufions, and to ancient fables. It mafl alfo be confeffed,
MILTON'S PARADISE LOST. 311
that there is a falling off in the latter part of Taradife Loft.
The language and verification of Milton have high merit. His blank verfe is harmonious and diverfified j and his ftyle has great force and majefty. There may be found, indeed, profaic lines in his poem. But thefe are eafily pardoned in a long work, where the poetry is in general fo fmooth, fo varied and fo flowing.
In theParadife Loft, amidft beauties of every kind, it is not furprifing to meet inequalities. No high genius was ever uniformly correct. Theology and metaphyfic, appear too abundantly in Milton ; his words are often technical : and he is too affe&edly oftentatious of his learning. Thefe faults are a great blemiih to his work ; but in extenuation of them, it is to be obferved, that Jhey are to be imputed to the pedantry of his age.
DRAMATIC POETRY. TRAGEDY.
I
N all civilized nation-, dramatic poetry has been a favourite amufement ; and it divides itfelf into the two forms of Tragedy and Comedy. Of the two, tragedy Is the moft dignified ; as great and ferious objects inter- eft more than little and ludicrous ones. The one has a reference to the paffions, the virtues, the crimes, and the fufierings of mankind ; the other refts on the hu- mours, follies, and pleafures. Of the latter the in- flrument is ridicule.
Tragedy is a direct imitation of human manners and a&ions. It does not exhibit characters by defcription or narration : it lets the perfonages before us, and makeo them a6t and fpeak with propriety. This fpecies of writing re* nires, of confequence, a deep knowledge of the human heart; and \yhen happily executed, it ha a commanding power in raiting the firongeft emotions.
In thi (train and Spirit, tragedy -r fnvnurable to the pi u otion of virtue. It is clrirfh by excitinr virtuous eniotions that it operates. Characters of honour claim
TRAGEDY, 313
our refpeft and approbation ; and to raife indignation, \ve muft paint a perfon in the odious^colours of depravity and vice. Virtuous men, indeed, are often reprefented by the tragic poet as unfortunate ; for this happens in nature : but he never fails to engage our hearts in their behalf; and in the end, he conduces them to triumph and profperity. Upon the fame principle, if bad men are reprefented as fuccefsful, they are yet finally con- ducted to punilhment. It may, therefore, be concluded, that tragedies are moral competitions ; and that pious men have often prepofteronfly exclaimed againft them.
It is affirmed by Ariftotle, that the defign of tragedy is to purge our paflions by the means of pity and terror. But perhaps it would have been more accurate to have faid, that the object of this Ipeeies of competition is to improve our virtuous fenfibility ; and if a writer excites our pity for the afflicted, infpires us with becoming fen- timents on beholding the viciflitudes of life, and fiimu- lates us to avoid the misfortunes of others by exhibiting
* O
their errors, he has attained all the moral purpofes of the tragic mufe.
In the compofitiou of a tragedy, it is neceflary to have an interefting (lory upon which to build ; and in the conduft of the piece, nature and probability are chiefly to be confulted. For the end of tragedy is not fo much to elevate the imagination, as to afied the heart. This principle, which is founded on the clearefl reafon, ex- E c
314 DRAMATIC TOETRY.
eludes from tragedy all machinery, and all fabulous in- terventions whatfoever. Ghofts alone, from their foun- dation in popular belief, have maintained their place up- on the ftage ; but the ufe of them is not to be com- mended, and mutt be managed with <jreat art.
o o
To fupport the imprrfiion of probability, the ftory of a tragedy according to fome critics, mould never be a pure fidion, but ought to be built on real hiftory. This, however, is furely carrying the matter too far. For a fictitious tale, if properly conducted, will melt the heart as much as any real hiftory. It is fufficient that nature and probability are not wounded ; and thus it is not objected to the tragic poet that he mixes many a fjditious circum fiance with real and well-known fads. The great majority of readers, never think of feparating the hitforical from the fabulous. They are only attentive to, and couched by, the events that re- femble nature. Accordingly, the moft affecting trage- dies are entirely fictitious in their fubject. Such arc the Zaire and Alzire of Voltaire, the Fair Penitent, and Douglas.
In its origin, tragedy was very rude and imperfect. Among the Greeks, it was firft nothing more than the fong which was fung at the feftival of Bacchus. Thefe fongs were fometimes fung by the whole company, and fometimes by feparate bands, anfwering alternately to each other, and making a chorus. To give this enter- tainment the greater variety, Thefpis, who flouriihed
TRAGEDY. 315
above five hundred years before the Chriftian cera, con- trived, that between the fongs there fhould be a recita- tion in verfej and ^Efchylu , \vho lived fifty years after him, introduced a dialogue between two perlbn?, or a&ors, comprehending fome intereftingitory, and placed them upon a ftage ndorned with fcenery. The drama began now to have a regular form ; and was loon after brought 10 perfection by Sophocles and Euripides.
It thus appears that the chorus was the foundation of tragedy. But what is remarkable, the dramatic dia- logue, which was only an addition to it, grew to be the principal part of the entertainment. The chorus lofing its dignity, came to be accounted only an acccflbry in tragedy. At length, in modern tragedy, it difappeared altogether ; and its abfence from the ftage, in modern times, is the chief diftin&ion between our drama and that of the antients.
With regard to the chorus, it mint be allowed, that it gave a fplendour to the ftage j and that it was a vehi- cle for moral leflbns, and high poetic flights. But, on the other hand, it was unnatural, and took away from the intereft of the piece. It removed the reprefentation from the refemblance of life. It has, accordingly, been excluded, with propriety, from thejtage.
In the conduct of a drama, the unities of aftion, E e 2
3lQ DRAMATIC POETRY.
place, and time^ have been confidered as very capital circuraftances, and it is proper to treat of them.
The unity of adion is undoubtedly very important. It refers to the relation which all the incidents introduced bear to fomedefignor effed, fo as to combine them na- turally into a whole or totality. This unity of fubjeft is expreffly effential to tragedy. For a multiplicity of plots, by diftrading the attention, prevent the paflions from rifing to any height. Hence the abfurdity of two independent actions in the fame play. There may in- deed, be under-plots j but the poet fliould be careful to make thefefubfervient to the main adion. It is the bu- iinefs of thefe to contribute to the bringing forward the cataftrophe of the play.
Of the defed of a feparate and independent intrigue, which has no connexion with the real objed of the piece, there is a clear example in the Cato of Addifon. Cato is, no doubt, a noble perfonage, and the author iupports his character with fuccefs. But all the love fcenes in the play have no connexion with the principal adion. The pnfllon of Cato's fons for Lucia, and of Juba for Cato's daughter, are merely epifodical. They break the unity of the fubject ; and join, ruoft unfea- fonably, the fopperies of gallantry, with high fentiments of patriotifm and public virtue.
The unity of adion muft not, however, be confounded
TRAGEDY. 317
with the fimplicity of the plot. The plot is fimple, when a fmall number of incidents are introduced into it. With refpe& to plots, the antients were more lim- ple than the moderns. The Greek tragedies appear, in- deed, to be even too naked, and deftitute of interelting events. The moderns admit of a greater extent of inci- dents ; and this variety is certainly ah improvement, as it renders the entertainment not only more inftruclive, but more animated. It may, however, be carried too far 5 for an overcharge of a6tion and intrigue, produce perplexity and embarraflment. Of this the Mourning Bride of Congreve is an example. Its events are too many, and too rapidly exhibited. The bulinefs of the play is too complex j and the cataftrophe is intricate and artificial.
But it is not only in the general conftruftion of the fa- ble, that the unity of aftion is to be attended to. It muft be iludied in all the ads and fcenes of the play. By an arbitrary divifion, there are five afts in every play. This is founded on the authority of Horace,
Neve minor t neu Jit quinto produfiior a flu Fabula.
There is nothing, however, in nature or reafon for this rule. On the Greek ftage, the divifion by a&s was un- known. The word aft never occurs once in the Poetics E e 3
318 DRAMATIC POETRY.
of Ariftotle. Practice, however, has eftabliihed this di- vifion ; and it will not be eafily overthrown.
A clear expofition of the fubjeft fhould appear in the firflaft. Itfhould introduce the perfonages to the ac- quaintance of the fpeftator, and fhould excite curiofity. During the fecond, third, and fourth acts, the plot fhould advance and thicken. The paflions fhould be kept perpetually awake. There fhould be no fcenes of idle converfation, or vain declamation. The fufpenfe and agitation of the fpe&ator fhould be excited more and more. Such is the great excellency of Shakefpeare. Sentiment and paflion, pity and terror, fhould reign and pervade every tragedy.
In the fifth aft, which is the feat of the cataftrophe, the author fhould difplay his fullefl art and genius. The unravelling of the plot fhould be brought. about by na- tural and probable means. It fhould be fimple, depend on a few events, and include a few perfons. A paflio- nate fenfibility languiihes, when divided among a num- ber of objefts. It is only ftrong and vehement when di- re£led to a few. In thecataftrophe, every thing ihould be warm and glowing ; and the poet fhould be fimple, ferious, and pathetic.
To the cataftrophe of a tragedy, it is not necefTary that it fhould terminate unfortunately. It is fufficienr, that diftrefs, agitation, and tender emotions are raifed, in the courfe of the play. Accordingly, Voltaire's firjef?
TRAGEDY. 3 I Q
fragulies have a happy conclufion. But with regard to the fpirit of Englim tragedy, it leans more to the other fide.
It is curious to enquire, how it mould happen that the emotions of forrow in tragedy, fhould afford a pleat- ing gratification to the mind. It feetm to be the con- ftitution of our nature, that all the focial paflions mould be attended with pleafure. Hence there is nothing more agreeable than love and friendmip. Pity, for wife ends, is appointed to be a ftrong inftinctj and it is an affec- tion which is neceffarily accompanied with forae diftrefs, on account of the fympathy with the fuflferers which it involves. The heart, at the fame moment, is warmed with kindnefs, and afflifted with diftrefs. Yet, upon the whole, the condition or ftate of the mind is agreeable. We are plea fed with ourfelves, not only for our bene- volence, but for our feulibility. Hence the foundation of the charm of tragedy. The pleafure of tragedy is alib heightened by the recollection that the diftrefs is not real; and by the power of action and lentiment, poetry and language.
After treating of the ads of a play, it is proper to at- tend to the fcenes. The entrance of a new perfon upon the ftage conftitutes what is called a new fcene. Thefe fcenes, or fucceffive converfations, iliould be cnnne&ed clofely together ; and a great deal of the art of drama- tic compofition confifts in the management of them. There are, upon this lubjeft, two rules which deferve
32O DRAMATIC POETBY.
coiifideration. 1. During the courfe of one act, the flage fliould never be left empty for one moment, for this would make a gap in the reprefentation; and when- ever the ftage is evacuated, the act is clofed. This rule is uniformly preferved by the French poets ; but it has been much neglected by the Englifh tragedians. 2. The other rule is, that no perfon fliould come upon the flage, or leave it, without a reafon appearing for the one and the other. If this rule is neglected, the dramatis perfo- nae are little better than fo many puppets ; and the na- ture of dramatic writing is contradicted and wounded. For the drama profefles an imitation of real tranfactions.
To the unity of action, the critics have added the uni- ties of time and place. It is required, by the unity of place, that the fcene fliould never be fluffed; but that the action of the play fliould continue in the fame place where it had begun. It is required, by the unity of time, that the time of the action be no longer than the time that is allowed for the reprefentation of the play. Arif- totle, however, is not fo fevere in this particular, and permits the action to comprehend the whole time of one day. Thefe rules are intended to bring the imitation as clofe as poflible to reality.
Among the Greeks there was no divifion of acts. In modern times, the practice has prevailed of fufpending thefpectacle for. feme little time between the acts. This practice gives a latitude to the imagination, and renders the ilrict confmement to tin^e and place lefs neceffary.
fRAGEDY.
Upon this account, therefore, too ftrift an adherence to tliefe unities fhould not be preferred to high beauties of execution, nor to the introdu£tion of pathetic fcenes. But tranfgreffions of thefe unities, though they may be often advantageous, ought not to be too wild and violent. The hurrying the fpectator from one diftant city to ano« ther, and the making feveral weeks and months pafs during the reprefentation, would {hock the imagination too much, and could not be reliflied.
Having examined dramatic action, it is now fit to at- tend to the characters moft proper to be exhibited in tra- gedy. Many critics affirm, that the nature of tragedy demands, that the principal perfonages fhould be con- ftantly of illuftrious character, and of high or princely ranks. For they affirm, that the fufferings of fuch per- fonsfeize the heart the moft forcibly. But this is but a fpecious way of reafoning. For the diftreffes and agi- tations of private life are affe&ing in a high degree. Defdemona, Monimia, and Belvidera, intereft us as much as if they had been Queens and Princetfes. It is fufficient, that in tragedy there be nothing degrading or noean in the perfonages exhibited. Illuftrious rank may give greater fplendour to the fpectacle ; but it is the tale itfelf, and the art of the poet, that alone can give its full influence to the piece.
In defcribing the characters of the perfons reprefented, the poet fhould be careful ib to order the incidents which telato to them, as to impreis the fpeftators with favour-
322 DRAMATIC POETRY.
able ideas of virtue, and the adminiitration of provi- dence. Pity fhoukl be raifed for the virtuous in diftrefs ; and the author fhould ftudionlly bsware of making fuch exhibitions of life, as would render virtue an obje£t of averfion.
Perfed unmixed characters, either of good or ill men, arc not, in the opinion of Aritfotle, the fitteft for tra- gedy. For the diureiies of the former, as unmerited, hurt us } and the afflidions of the latter excite no coin- paflion. Mixed charatlers, like thole we meet with in the world, are the beft field for difplaying, without any bad confequences to morals, the viciHitudes of life. They intereft us the moft deeply; and while all their dil- trefies are pathetic, they are the more inftruftive, when their misfortunes are reprefented as fpringing out of their own paflions, or as originating in fome weaknefs inci- dent to human nature.
The Greek tragedies are too often founded on mere deftiny, and inevitable misfortunes. Modern tragedy aims at a higher objeft, and takes a wider range; as if ihows the direful effecrs of ambition, jealoufy, love, re- fentment, and every ftrong emotion. But of all the paffions which have engaged the modern ftage, love has had the greateft triumph. To the antient theatre, love, was, in a manner, unknown. This proceeded from the national manners of the'Greeks, which encouraged a greater feparation of the fexes, than takes place in mo- dern times. Neither did female aftors appear upon the
TRAGEDY. 323
antient ftage; a circumftance which operated againft the introduction of love ftories. It is clear, however, that no iblid reafon can be ailigned for the predominancy of love upon the ftage; and it is, doubtlefs, moft impro- per, that the limits of tragedy Ihould be confined. Ra- cine in the Athalie, Voltaire in the Merope, and Home in Douglas, have afforded fufficient proofs, that the drama, without any afliftance from love, may produce the higheft effefts upon the mind.
Befides the arrangement of his fubjeft, and the con- dud of his perfonages, the tragic poet mull attend to the propriety of his fentiments. Thefe muft correfpond with the perfons who are reprefented, and with the fituations in which they are placed. This rule is fo ob- vious, that it requires not to be infifted upon j and it is chiefly in the pathetic parts, that the difficulty of fol- lowing it is the greateft. We go to a tragedy in order to be moved and agitated ; and if the poet cannot reach the heart, he can have no tragic merit ; and we mull leave his play not only with coldnefs, but under an un- cafy difappointment.
To paint and to excite paffion are the prerogatives of genius. They require not only high fenfibility, but the art of entering deeply into fituations and eharacters. It ' is here that the candidates for the drama are the leaft fuu.efsful. A man under high paffion, makes known his leeangs KI ihe glowing language of ftnfibility. He does not coolly defcnbe what his feelings are; yet it is
324 DRAMATIC POETRY.
to this fort of defcription that tragic poets have recourfe, when they are unable to attain the native language of paffion. Thus it is even in Addifon's Cato, when Lucia having confefled to Portius her love for him, fwears that flie will never marry him : for Portius, inftead of giving way to the language of grief and aftonifhrnent, deicribes only his feelings.
Fix'd in aftonifhment, I gaze upon thee, Like one juft blafted by a ftroke fiotn heav'n, Wlio pants for breath, and ftiffens yet alive In dreadful looks; a monument of vuath.
Thefe lines might have proceeded from a by-ftander, or an indifferent perfon, but are altogether improper in the mouth of Portius. Similar to this defcriptive lan- guage, are the unnatural and forced thoughts which tragic poets fometimes employ to exaggerate the feelings of perfons, whom they wifli to defcribe under high agi- tation. Thus when Jane Shore, in meeting with her hufband in her diftrefs, and on finding that he had for- given her, calls on the rains to give her their drops, and to the fprings to lend her their !trea«is, that (lie may poflefs a conftant fupply of tears, the poet ftrainshis fan- cy, and fpurs up his genius to be abfurd.
The language of real paffion is always plain anJ 15m- ple. It abounds, indeed, in figures ; but thefe exprels a difturbed and impetuous ftate of mind, and ..re not for mere para Je and embellifhment. The thoughts ;'!ggefted ,by paffion are natural and obvious, and net exaggerations
TRAGEDY.
of refinement, fubtilty, and wit. Paffion neither rea- fons, nor fpeculates, nor declaims, The language is (hort, broken, and interrupted. The French tragedians deal too much in refinement and declamations. The Greek tragedians adhere mod to nature. They are natu- ral and pathetic. This too is the great excellency of Shakefpeare. He exhibits the true language of nature and paifion.
As to moral fentiments and reflexions, they ought not to recur too frequently in tragedy. When unlealbu- ably ufed, they lofe their efte6t, and convey an air of pedantry. "When introduced with propriety, they have an alluring dignity. Cardinal Wolfey's ibliloquy on his fall, is a fine in fiance of the felicity with which they may be employed. There is allb a high moral turn of thought, in many places of Addilbn's Cato.
The llyle and verification of tragedy fliouU be free, eafy, and various j and the Englilh blank verfe appears to be peculiarly fuited to this fpecies of composition. It is capable of great majcfty, and may yet defcend to the familiar ; it admits of a happy variety of cadence, and is free from the monotony of rhyme. Of the French tragedies, it is a great misfortune that they are conftantly in rhyme. For it fetters the freedom of the tragic dia- logue, debafes it with languor, and is fatal to the pow- er of paffion.
F f
32(5 DRAMATIC POETRY.
As to the fplendid companions in vogue, and to the ftrings of couplets with which it was fome time ago the falhion to conclude the a<5ls of a tragedy, and even the more interefting fcenes, they are now laid afide : and they are to be regarded not only as childifti orna- ments, but as difgufting barbarifms.
GREEK TRAGEDY,
%««*««L.>Vl"""'' <•""( »*',,>«„,.«•%„,*
E have formerly obferved, that in the Greek tragedy there was much fimplicity. The plot was na- tural and unincumbered ; the incidents few ; and the conduct very exact, with refpect to the unities of action, time, and place. Machinery and the intervention of fhe gods were employed ; and what was prepofterous, the final unravelling was not unfrequently made to turn upon them. Love, if one or two inftances are excepted, was never admitted into the tragedy of the Greeks. A vein of morality and religion is made to run through it ; but they employed lefs than the moderns, the combat of the paflions. For their plots they were indebted to the ancient hereditary ftories of their own nation.
^Efchylus, who is the father of the Greek tragedy, exhibits both the beauties and defects of an early origi- nal writer. He has boldnefs and animation, but is often difficult and obfcure. His ftyle is highly metaphorical, and often tumid and harlh. His ideas are martial ; and
F f 2
328 DEAMAT1C FOET&Y.
he pofleffes more force than tenderuefs. He alfo de- lights in the marvellous.
The moil maflerly of the Greek tragedians is Sopho- cles. He is the mofE correct in the management of his fubjects, and the moftjuftand fublime in his fentiments. In defcriptive talents he is alfo eminent. Euripides is accounted more tender than Sophocles j and in moral fentiments he is more abundant. But he is lefs careful in the conduct of his plays; his expofitions of his fub- jects are lefs artful j and the fongs of his chorus, though finely poetic, are lefs connected with the principal ac- tion. Both of them, however, have high merit as tragic poets. Their ftyle is beautiful : and their fenti- ments, for the moft part, juft. They fpeak with the tones of nature j and though fimple, they are touching and interefting.
The theatrical reprefentation on the ftages of Greece and Rome, was, in many refpects, very lingular, and widely different from that of modern times. The fongs of the chorus were accompanied with inftrumental mufic; and the dialogue part had a modulation of its own, and might be fct te notes. It has alfo been thought, that fometimes, on the Roman ftage, the pronouncing and gesticulating parts were divided, and performed by different actors. In tragedy, the actors wore a long robe ; they were raifed upon cothurni, and played in malks. Thefe malks were painted ;
GREEK TRAGEDY. 32Q
and the aftor, by turning the different profiles, exhi- bited different emotions to the auditors ; a contrivance this, which wasfurely very imperfeft. In the dramatic fpeclacles, notwithstanding, of Greece and Rome, the attention given to their exhibition and magnificence, far exceeded the attempts of modern ages.
F f 3
FRENCH TRAGEDY.
RAGEDY has appeared with great luflre in France ; and the principal dramatic writers of this nation are, Corneille, Racine and Voltaire. It muft be acknow- ledged that they have improved upon antiquity ; and are more interefting than the old tragedians, from their ex- hibition of more incidents, greater variety of paflion?, and the fuller difplay of characters. Like the antients, they excel in regularity of couduft ; and their ftyle is poetical and elegant. But, perhaps, to an Englifh tafle, they want ftrength and paflion, and are too declamatory, and too refined. They feem afraid of being too tragic ; and it was the opinion of Voltaire, that there is necef- fary to the perfection of tragedy, the union of the Englifh vehemence and action, with the correctness and decorum of the French theatre.
Corneille, who raifed to eminence the French tra- gedy, unites majefty of fentiment, and a fruitful imagi- nation. His genius was rich, but had rather a turn to the epic than the tragic. He is magnificent and fplen- «ftd, rather than touching and tender. He is too full of declamation, and often too extravagant. His produc- tions are numerous ; and the moft celebrated of his dra- mas are the Cirma, the Cid., Horace, and Polyeu&e..
FRENCH TRAGEDY. 331
In the tragic line, Racine is fuperior to Corneille. He poflelles not, indeed, the copionfnefs of Corneille, but be is free from his bombaft, and is remarkable for ten- dernefs. His Phaedra, his Athalie, and his Mithidrate, ,are a great honour to the French ftage. The beauty of his language and verfificationis uncommon; and he hits managed his rhymes with a fuperior advantage. Voltaire has repeatedly obferved, that the Athalie of Racine is the " Chef d'Oeuvre" of the French theatre. It is a facred drama, and owes much to the majefty of religion. Perhaps, however, it is lefs interefting than the Andro* maque. He is alib infinitely fortunate in his Phsedra.
Voltaire is not inferior to his predeceflbrs in the dra- ma j and there is one circumftance in which he has far outdone them. This is in the delicacy and intereft of his fituations. Here he is peculiarly great. Like his predeceflbrs, however, he is fometimes deficient in force, and fometimes too declamatory. His characters, not- withftanding, are depicted with fpirit, his events ftrike, and his fentiments abound in animation. Zaire, Me- rope, Alzire, and the Orphan of China, are moft excel- lent tragedies.
ENGLISH TRAGEDY.
T has often been remarked of tragedy in Great Britain, that it is more ardent than that of France, but more irregular and incorrect. It therefore has excelled in what is the foul of tragedy. For the paflionate and the pathetic muft be allowed to be. the chief excellence of the tragic mufe.
Shakefpeare is the firft of all the Englim dramatifts. In extent and force of genius, he is unrivalled. But at the fame, time it muft be owned, that his genius is lome- times wild, that his tafte is not always chafte, and that he was too little afiifted by art and knowledge. Criti- cifm has been lavifhed with the utmoft prodigality in commentaries upon him ; yet it is undecided, whether his beauties or defects are the greateft. There are in his writings fcenes that are admirable, andpaflages that are fuperlatively touching ; but there is not one of his plays which can be pronounced to be a good one. His irre- gularities are extreme, his mixtures of the ferious and the comic are grotefque, and he has often a difgufting play of words, harm expreffions, and a certain obfcure bom- baft. Thefe faults are, however, extenuated or redeemed by two of the greateft perfections that a tragic poet can difplay, by lively and diverfified paintings of character,
ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 333
and by ftrong and happy expreffions of paffion. Upon thcfe pillars his merit refts. In the midit of his abfur- dities he intereils and moves u« ; fo great is his iltill in- human nature, and fo lively his reprefentations of it.
He has another high advantage. He has created for himfelf a world of preternatural beings. His witches and ghofts, fairies and fpirits, are fo awful, myfterious, and peculiar, that they ftrongly affeft the imagination. Of the dramas of this fingular writer, the greateft are his Othello and Macbeth. With regard to his historical plays, they are not tragedies or comedies, but a fpecies of dramatic entertainment, in which he defcribes the perfonages, the events, and the manners of the times of which he treats.
After Shakefpeare there are few dramatic writers, whofe whole works are entitled to high praife. There are feveral tragedies, however, which have great value. Lee's Theodofius has warmth and tendernefs, but is fomewhat romantic in the plan, and extravagant in the fendraents. Oiway is excellent in the Orphan and Venice Preferved. Perhaps, however, he is too tragic in thefe pieces. He had genius and ftrong paflions, but is difpofed to be too indelicate.
The tragedies of Rowe abound in morality and in ele- vated fentiments. His poetry is good, and his language is elegant. He is, notwithftanding, cold, andlefs tragic
DRAMATIC POETRY.
than flowery. His beft dramas are Jane Shore and the Fair Penitent, which excel in the tender and pathe:ic.
In the Revenge of Dr. Young, there are fire and ge- nius ; but it is deiicieht in tendernefs, and exhibit too ftrong a conflict of direful paffions. In the Mourning Bride of Congreve, there are fine fituations, and a great flow of poetry. The tragedies of Mr. Thomfon are dull and formal, from too inordinate an intermixture of (tiff morality. His Tancred and Sigifmunda is by far his beft piece.
A Greek tragedy may be denominated a fimple rela- tion of an interefting incident. A French tragedy is a fucceffion of refined conventions. In an Englifh tra- gedy, vehemence predominates ; and it may be defcribed to be a reprefentation of the combat of ftrong pafiions.
COMEDY.
T
A. HE ftrain and fcope of comedy discriminate it Suf- ficiently from tragedy. The greater pailions are the pro- vince of the latter; and the inftrunient of the former is ridicule. Follies and vices, and whatever in the human character is the object of cenfure and impropriety, are the objefts of the comic mufe. It is a fatyrical exhibi- tion, and includes an idea that is ufeful and moral. It is commendable, by this fpecies of compofition, to correct and to punim the manners of men. There are many vices which are more fucceflively exploded by ridicule, than by ferious argumentation. It is poflible, however, to employ ridicule improperly ; and by its operation to do mifchief inftead of good. For it is not right to confi- der it as the proper left of truth ; and licentious wri.ers of the comic fort, may caft a ridicule on objecls which are not deferving of it. But this is not 'he fault of co- medy, but of the i urn and genius of certain individuals. In the management of Icofe men, comedy may corrupt -, but in i hat of well-intentioned writers, it is a gay enter- tainment, an<* may lead to reformation, and the ad- vancement of virtue.
The rules of dramatic adion, that are prefcribed for
336 DRAMATIC POETRY.
tragedy, belong alfo to comedy. The comic writer mud alfo obferve the unities of action, time, and place. It is ever requifite to attend to nature and probability. The imitation of manners ought even to be more exact in comedy than in tragedy. For the fubjects of comedy are more familiar and better known.
The fubjects of tragedy are confined to no age or country ; but It is otherwife in comedy. For the deco- rums of behaviour, and the nice difcriminations of cha- racter, which are the objects of comedy, are not to be underftood, but by the natives of the country where the author refides. We may weep for the heroes of Greece and Rome, but we can only be touched with the ridicule of the manners and characters that come un- der our own obiervation. The Icene. therefore, of comedy, fliould conftantly be laid in the arthor's own country, and in his own age. The comic poet catches the manners living as they rife.
It is, indeed, true, that Plautus and Terence did not adopt this rule. The let ne ct" their comedies is laid in Greece, and they adopted the Greek laws and cuftoms. It is to be ccnhdeied, however, that comedy was, in their age, a new entertainment j and that they were .contented with the pnufe of being tranilators from Me- nander, and other comic vriters of Greece. In poflc- rior times, too, the Romans had the " Cceniedia Togata," or what was eftablKhed on their gwn manners, as well
COMEDY. 33?
as the " Cosmedia Palliata," which was founded oa thole of the Greeks.
There are two kinds of comedy, that of character and that of intrigue. In the laft, the plot of the play is the principal object. In the firft, thedifplay of a pecu- liar character is the chief point ; and to this the a6tion is fubortlinate. It is in comedies of character that the French abound mod. Such are the capital pieces of Moliere ; the Avare, Mifanthrope, and Tartutfe. It is to comedies of intrigue that the Englifh have leaned moft. Such are the plays of Congreve j and, in gene- ral, there are more flory and action on the Englifh, than on the French theatre.
The perfection of comedy is, perhaps, to be found in the mixture of thefe two kinds of entertainments. A mere converfation, without an interesting ftory, is infipid. There Ihould ever be fo much of Intrigue, as to give a foundation for wrihes and fears. The incidents fhould be ftriking, and in nature ; and fliould afford a full field for the exhibition of character. The piece, however, fliould not be overcharged with intrigue. For this would be to convert a comedy into a novel.
With refpeft to characters, it is a common. -error of comic writers, to carry them much beyond real life ; and, indeed, it is very difficult to hit the precife point, where wit ends, and buffoonery commences. The comedian
38 DRAMATIC POETRY.
exaggerate ; but good fenfe muft teach him where to fet bounds to his fatire and ridicule. Plautus, for in- ftance, is extravagant, when his Mifer, after examining the right and the left hands of the perfon whom he fuf- pe6ts of having purloined his caiket, cries out. " ojlende " etiam tertiam."
"There ought, in comedy, to be a clear diftin£tton in characters. The contraft of characters, however, by their introduction in pairs, and by oppofites, is too the- atrical and affe&ed. It is the perfection of art to con- ceal art. The mafterly difcrimination of characters is, by the ufe of fuch {hades of diversity as are commonly found in fociety; and it is obvious, that ftrong oppofi- tions are feldom brought into a6tual contrail in any of the circumftances of life.
As to the fiyle of comedy, it ought to be elegant, lively, and pure; and mould generally imitate the tone of polite converfation. It ihculd not defcend into grofs expreflions. Rhyme is not fuitable to comic compofi- tion. For what has poetry to do with the converfations . of men in common life ? The flow of the dialogue fhould be eafy without pertnefs, and genteel without flippancy. The wit fhould never be fludied or unfea- fonable.
ANTIENT COMEDY.
JL HE comedy of the antients was an avowed fatire *gainft particular perfons, who were brought upon the ftage by name. Such were the plays of Ariftophanes j and competitions of fo fingular a nature illuftrate well the turbulent licentioufnefs of Athens. The moft illuf- trious perfonages, generals and magiftrates, were then cxpofed to the unreftrained fcope of the comic mufe. Vivacity, fatire, and buffoonery, are the charafteriftics of Ariftophanes. His ftrength and genius are not to be doubted; but his performances do not farely afford any High idea of the attic tafte of wit in his age. His ridicule is pufhed to extremity ; his wit is farcical ; his perfonal raillery is cruel and biting; and his obfcenity is intole- rable.
After the age of Ariftophanes, the laws prohibited the liberty of attacking perfons by name on the ftage. The middle comedy took its rife. Living characters were ftill affailed, but under fictitious names. Of thefe pieces there are no remains. They were fncceeded by the new comedy. It was then, as it is now, the bufinefs of the ftage, to exhibit manners and characters, but not thofe of particular men. The author the moft celebrated of this kind among the Greeks was Menander^ but hts writings have perillied. G g 2
340 DRAMATIC POETRY.
Of the new comedy of the antients, the only exam- ples which exift are the plays of Plautus and Terence, The firft is eminent for the vis comica, and for an ex- preffive phrafeology. He bears, however, manymarRs of the rudeneis of the dramatic art in his time. He has too much low wit and fcurrility j and is by far too quaint and too full of conceit. He has variety, not- withftanding, and force} and his characters are well marked, though fomewhat coarfe. Dry den and Moliere have done him the honour to imitate himi
Terence is polifhed, delicate, and elegant. Nothing can be more pure and graceful than his latinity. Cor- re&nefs and decency reign in his dialogue ; and his re- lations have a pi&urefque and beautiful fimplicity. The morality he inculcates cannot be objefted to ; his fitu- atious are interelling ; and many of his fentiments find their way to the heart. He may be confidered as the founder of the ferious comedy. In fprightlinefs and in ftrength he is deficient. There is a famenefs and unifor- mity in his characters and plots ; and he is faid to have been inferior to Menander, whom he copied.
SPANISH COMEDY.
T.
HE earlier! objeft in modern comedy is the Spanifti theatre. The chief comedians of Spain are Lopez d« Vega, Guillin, and Calderon. The firft, who is the moft famous of them, was the author of not lefs than a thoufand plays ; and was infinitely more irregular than our Shakfpeare. He difregarded, altogether, the three unities, and every eftablifhed rule of dramatic compofi- tion. In one play he is not afraid to include whole years, and even the life of a man. His fcene in one a6l is in Spain j in another in Italy ; and in a third in Africa.
His dramas are chiefly hiftorical j and are a mixture of heroic fpeeches, ferious incidents, war, ridicule, and buffoonery. He jumbles together chriftianity, paganifm, virtues, vices, angels, and Gods, Notwithftnnding his faults, he was in pofleflion of genius, and of great force of imagination. Many of his characters are well painted j many of his fituations are happy ; and from the fourceof his- rich invention, the dramatic writers of other nation? have drawn many advantages. He was confcic-is hi-nfelf of his extreme irregularities, and apo- logized for them, from the want of taftc of bis country- men.
G g 3
FRENCH COMEDY.
*TT«
JL HE comic theatre of France is allowed to be cor- reft, chafte, and decent, Regnard, Dufrefnoy, Dan- court and Marieux, are comic writers of coniiderable merit. But the author of this clafs, in whom the French glory moft, is Moliere. According to the judgment of the French critics, lie has nearly reached the fummit of perfection in his art. Nor, perhaps, is their decifion fallacious. Moliere is the fatirift only of vice and folly. His characters were peculiar to his own times 3 and, in general, his ridicule is exaft. His comic powers were very great j and there is an innocence in his pleafantry. His Mifanthrope and Tartuffe are in verfe, and confti- tute a kind of dignified comedy, in a ftyle politely fati- rical. In his profe comedies there is a profufion of ridi- cule ; but the poet never gives the alarm to modefty, or is defirous to caft a contempt againft virtue. Thefe are great perfections ; but it is to be allowed that they are mingled with confiderable defe&s. The unravelling of his plots is by no means happy. In this he is often im- probable, and without preparation. Perhaps his atten- tion to the full exhibition of characters, took away from his care of the conduft of the intrigue. In his verfe co- medies, he does not always afford a complete intereft 5 and his fpeeches run not unfrequently into prolixity.
FRENCH COMEDY. 343.
Iii his piecrs in profe he is often too farcical, But, upon the whole, it may be affirmed,, that few writers ever attained fo perfectly the true end of comedy. With re- gard to grave comedy, it is underftood that his Tartuffe is his chief produft ion;- and with refpeft to gay comedy,, the preference has been given to his Avare,
ENGLISH COMEDY,
HE Englifh comic theatre excres high expe&ations. A variety of original characters, and bold ftrokes of wit and humour, belong to it. It has been pronounced that humour is, in fome degree, peculiar to England. The freedom of our government, and the nnreftrained liber- ty of manners which prevail, tend to the produflion of Angularity. In France, the influence of a defpotic court fpreads an uniformity over the nation. Comedy, ac- cordingly, has a freer vein in England than in France. But it is to be regretted, that the comic fpirit of Britain is too ofien difgraced by indecency and licentioufnefs.
It is remarkable, however, that thefirftage of Englifh comedy was free from this fpirit. Shr.kfpeare and Ben Jonfon have no immoral tendency in their plays. The comedies of the former have a high invention, but are irregular in their conduct. They are fingularly rich in characters and manners ; but they defcend too often to pleafe the mob. Jonfon is more regular, but more pe- dr.nti •. He yet was poflrifed of dramatic genius. There are much fancy, and many fine paflages, in the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher. But, in general, they are dc-
ENGLISH COMEDY. 345
formed with romantic improbabilities, with unnatural characters, and with coarfe allufions.
The changes which have taken place in manners, have rendered the old comedies rather obfolete. For it is the exhibition of prevailing characters and modes, that gives its charm to comedy. Thus Plautus was antiquated to the Romans in the days of Auguftus. But to the great honour of Shakfpeare. it is obfervable, that his Falftaft" is m'll admired, and that his Merry Wives of "Windfor may yet be read with real pleafure.
After the restoration of Charles II. the licentioufnefs \vhich polluted the court and the nation feized upon co- medy. The rake became the predominant character. ' A ridicule was thrown upon chaftity and fobriety. In- deed, in the end of the piece, the rake becomes a fober man ; but throughout the performance he was a fine gentleman, and exhibits a piclure of the pleafurable en- joyment of life. This fpirit of comedy had the worft effefts in forming the youth of both fexes; and it con- tinued down to. the days of George II.
In the comedies of Drydcn then* are may ftrokes of genius ; but he is frequently liafty and carrlefs As his objeft was to pleafe, he followed the current of the times, and gave into a vei;> of corruption nnd licentiouf- nefs. His want of decency was, at times, fo grofs, a* to occafion the prohibition of his pieces.
After Dryden, flouriftied Gibber, Vanbrugh, Farqu-
34() DRAMATIC POETRY.
bar, and Congreve. Cibber has fprigbtlinefs, and a pert vivacity ; but is forced and unnatural in his incidents. His performances have all funk into obfcurity, excepting The Carelefs Hufband and The Provoked Hufband. Of thefe, the firft is remarkable for the eafy politenefs of the dialogue ; and it is. tolerably moral in its conducT. The latter, in which Cibber was aflifted by Vanbrugh, is perhaps the belt comedy in the Englifli language. It may yet be objefted to it, that it has a double plot. It's characters, however, are natural and it abounds with fine painting, and happy ftrokes of humour.
Wit, fpirit, and ea(e, characterize Sir John Vanbrugh; but he is the moft indelicate and immoral of all our come- dians. Congreve poifefled, undoubtedly,, a happy ge- nius. He is witty and fparkling, and attentive to cha- racter and aclion. Indeed it may be laid., that he over- flows with wit. It is often introduced without propri- ety ; and, in general, it is too pointed and apparent for well-bred converfation. Farquhar is a light and gay writer ; lefs correcl than Congreve, and lefs brilliant ; but more eafy, and nearer to real life. Like Congreve teo, he is foully licentious ; and modefly muft turn frora them with abhorrence. The French boaft, with juftice, of the fuperior decency of their ftage, and fpeak of the English theatre with aftonifliment. Their j.hilolophical writers have even afcribed the profligate manners of. London, to the indelicacy and corruption of the comedy.
ENGLISH COMEDY. 347
Of late years, a reformation has gradually taken place in Englifh comedy. Our \viitersofcomedy now appear afhamcd of the indecency of their predeceflbrs. They may be inferior to Farquhar and Congreve in fpirit, cafe, and wit j but virtue has gained fomething by their being by far more innocent and moral.
It is to the French ftagethat we arc indebted for this improvement. The introduction there of a graver co- medy, of what has been called La Coraedie Larmoyante, has attracted the attention and the approbation of our •writers. This invention is not altogether a modern one. For the Andria of Terence is of this defcription. Gaiety and ridicule are not excluded from thi> graver comedy, but it feeks to merit praife by tender and interesting fi- tuations. It is fentimental, and touches the heart. It pleafes not fo much by the laughter it excites, as by the tears of affection which it draws forth.
This form of comedy has been oppofed in France as an unjuftifiable innovation. Its not being founded on laughter and ridicule, has been objected to it with har{h- nefs. For it does not follow, that all comedies fliould be formed on one precife model. Some may be light, and fome may be ferious ; and others may partake of both thefe defcriptions. It is fufficient, that human life and manners are defcribed with precision and know- ledge. It is not to be fuppofed, that this new fpeciea of comedy is to fuperfede, altogether, the comedy that is founded in ridicule. There are materials for both;
T
348
DRAMATIC POETRY.
and the ftage is the richer for the innovation. At any •rate it may be confidered as a mark of true politenefs, and refinement of manners, that theatrical exhibitions fhould become fafhionable, which are free from indeli- cate fentiment, and an immoral tendency.
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